Plum Wine and Ladyfingers

Spaghetti guitars.

2010-04-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

Who doesn't love that I presently own the promo single for Link Wray's El Toro? Raise your hand and I'll shoot you like I was Eli Wallach on a bad day.

Also, while researching, just discovered that Chico Buarque and Morricone created an album together: Per Un Pugno di Samba (link provided is from the amazing Loronix site). Why don't I know these things?

Cascading bunnies.

2010-04-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

...and speaking of Kozyndan, I wasn't much aware of them until a visit to the Munky King store on Melrose Avenue a few years back. Shows how outta the loop I am! They had prints of these images, love at first sight:

I went to their site and found this, which sold me even more:

Go to their site, you won't be disappointed. Technically skilled and interested in things I'm interested in, that should be enough! From vintage photos of Hawaiian women having phone sex to Dublab.com illustrative projects.....it is all pleasing.

For the record, Munky King had the best painting I've ever seen on its wall. The artist was asking $400. Regrets, regrets. It was about a foot square, maybe three inches deep off the wall. And portrayed a tiny little happy fox - dead center in the middle of the canvas - jumping in the air with his back to us. <3

Haisai ojisan!

2010-04-07T09:22:00.000-07:00

"Hey, man! Hey, man! If there’s a drop of sake left in last night’s little bottle, won’t you give me some? Hey, boy! Hey, boy! You think I’m satisfied with a little bottle? Don’t say there’s none left! Ok, man! If the little bottle’s not enough, give me a big one!"

I've spent the better part of two decades listening to Shoukichi Kina. The Peppermint Tea House "best of" cd (naturally available at emusic) always makes me happy - can't ignore something like that!

Why it would take me this long to realize that if there's one, there may be a multitude....can't really say. Let's assume I'm stupid. I was never musically aggressive as a teen, nor in my twenties. It took a befuddled and broken relationship with a brilliant music collector to provide the needed catalyst....and my interest has exploded out of the muck.

In a recent fit of obsessive music-grabbing, I stumbled across the Ryukyu Rare Groove: Shimauta Pops comp on the lovely "What's in my iPod?" blog. I was improved immediately. It had never occurred to me to look for more - couldn't rightly tell you whether I even knew that Shoukichi Kina was from Okinawa until that day. Wow! Okinawan music! Must have more!

I suppose I sound like a bit of a twat, all things considered. 1) I don't understand the lyrics. 2) I have no cultural context. 3) And, slightly stickier issue, The Japanese Thing. I must admit a nearly morbid fascination with Japanese film, literature and their visual arts. I've been attempting to learn Japanese (slowly, it must be admitted) to further my appreciation. And it does beg a few questions about whether listening to music for music's sake is ok. I think it is. And okinawan music is of the best sort ^^

Since then, I've researched when I can. And grabbed what I can. My knowledge is still piecemeal, and I have yet to visit the Ryukyu islands. However, there is great love and intent in me. And in the spirit of this journey I'm taking, will drag you along with me.

喜納昌吉 Kina Shōkichi, musician, peace activist and Japanese State Senator.

Gorgeous little piece by actor/performer UA:

Stunning archival piece:

I think some of the joy comes from the literal upbeat:

Busker :)

Karakui Okinawan Pop Culture Blog

Okinawa Reflections Blog

The artist-couple Kozyndan's riotously wonderful summer Okinawan mix from ages ago (download still works)

iTunes link for excellent sanshin compilation, "Sanshin de kikitai hikitai okinawa minyou Best 15"

And finally, for a great deal of fun, here are two versions of Haisai Ojisan (one of my favorites):

Great traditional version

And one by Richard Thompson

Very scattered entry, but hope you enjoy! :)

Refashioned.

2010-04-06T15:34:00.000-07:00

Got rid of the old frock and put on a new, in celebration of my less than triumphant return to the United States. Hope you like it. Let me know if the colors make your eyes bleed.

Pissant.

2010-01-24T06:45:00.000-08:00

Interesting.

Supposed to meet friend in Stoke-on-Trent yesterday, but fools will be fools. Racists on the move, protest, demonstration, the word “riot” splashed all around.

Ever since participating in one, I’ve been anti-demonstration. Seems it’s always a group of people doing idiotic things. You wind up preferring they weren’t linked to your personal ideals. And it’s far too easy to get caught up in the mob mentality, fascist or no.

Decided to head to Liverpool after being advised to give Stoke a complete miss. Necessarily took the bus into Stoke, and was rather alarmed by the hordes of riot police surrounding the station. One group running to the right, the others checking people’s papers and asking questions. Good grief. Lots of shady characters roaming about in thuggish groups, and one extremely good-looking arrogant young man who appeared straight out of an Ivy League rowing team but very obviously a complete dick. Took a bus as quickly as possible to the train station, only to be met by more police. While making my last-minute arrangements, the ticket-seller looked alarmed, telling her co-worker the “riot” was moving toward them and they might have to close…? Can a train station do that? Ran with tickets. 3 minutes to spare. Hopped on train. Breathed in and turned on iPod.

Little did I know that there would be footballers everywhere once I arrived. More mobs, different mentality, same result. Granted, it was a Saturday night, and I was roaming the streets without any proper sense of where I was. Did manage to relocate two lovely pubs from a prior trip, the Crown and Doctor Duncan’s. It wasn’t a difficult search - they’re very close to the station.

The websites featuring these nice real ale pubs rarely seem to feature the architectural details that attract the likes of me. Gorgeous tilework, molded copper on the bar, stained glass ceilings, carved wood molding. Beautiful. Didn’t go in either establishment this time; full of older men, and wasn’t in the mood to strike up chat or, conversely, play the intruder.

Cold. Shivering. Wound up on high street. Displeased. Sat in the world’s noisiest Starbucks to see if I could sort a hotel rather than brave the trip back into Stoke. Finally decided it wasn’t worth it. Walked a fair distance. Took photos of architecture, buses and lights.

Liverpool train station is easy to spot, though must be circumvented due to construction out front. Enormous space inside, girder arches and LED signs. Lots of little overpriced cafes filled with crap fast food. Purchased a brie and tomato baguette that then started its new life as a leaky sandwich in my laptop bag. Would discover the stain later in the evening. Caught train back to Crewe and submitted myself to a 45 minute stand on the cold platform – three rather drunk and obnoxious teens in the waiting room. Couldn’t be bothered to listen. Lots of shy smiles from men on/waiting for trains, I’ve noticed. One man put his money in a vending machine, with anticipated resultant hitting the side and cursing. Another, more lively gent walked by and told the other to “just kick it, mate” and proceeded to kick the crap out of the front.

Large train to Crewe and small train to Stoke both filled with large groups of drunk football fans singing and roaming from car to car. Something about not wearing claret. Two pretty French girls with acne making fun of them. Normally I’d find all this kind of amusing and charming in an obtuse way, but was very grumpy by the time 9:15 had rolled around.

Once back in Stoke, I dashed out to the bus stop, thinking I was so very clever: the final bus at City Centre at 9:30pm, look at me, on time and feelin’ fine….silently egging the 24 bus onward like a dray horse. Go, go, you bastard! Except when I arrived, the final bus wasn’t due for another hour. Whoops. And it was cold. Walked down to the corner chippy, considered going into the local pub….but just ordered some chips and gravy and sat quietly eating. The chip shop’s door was open, somewhat ruining my plan to be warm for a half hour. The owner struck up a conversation, asking if I worked for a newspaper. Ha.

Cold, long day, full of men with cropped hair and short jackets, girls with shaved stripes in their hair and high-heeled boots. Yelling, beer-swilling, singing, stomping, stumbling, tittering, and shrill shrieky dolphin-girl laughing.

Have had better ones.

Blue shadow in orange streetlight.

2010-01-12T10:08:00.000-08:00

Hello! It’s been ages. And chances are, I’m writing to a blank wall….doubtful there’s anyone still reading. Needless to say, adequate reason has kept me away. Frantic, and many times poor, decision-making has been at the fore this year. In the New Year, many people damn the noughties for their luck, I can only damn myself.

Out for a walk today in Staffordshire; in England at the present, and hope to stay for another 1 month 12 days, since the daft immigration officer allowed me three months. There’s been a bit of a topsy-turvy going on, since my funds have disappeared, but I’d rather stick it out. Much borrowing of money and guilt feelings, and friends/family asking me why I don’t just come home now. Excellent question. And there are excellent answers. But I’m not at all sure they’d maintain their high quality if I actually verbalized them.

Walking along the canal from Froghall to Consall Forge, I hope I won’t fall again. Took a spill the other day that knocked my back, right where your buttocks end and the spine’s all knobbly. Ow. Also thwacked elbow, which is still sore and grumpy. It wound up being one of those excellent Charlie Chaplin style prat falls, feet flying up over head, the ice underneath the snow giggling away. Ipod is on, headphones in ears…a moment’s musing about why the earpieces don’t feel cold, then an assumption that my head must be using a few extra capillaries and calories to warm them up. There’s almost no one on the path today, which is fine. One elder gentleman, dour – I’ve run into him before, always with the same curt reception. I get the impression that he isn’t out for shits and giggles, and indeed has to make this trek. A brief question mark as to whether he’s the resident of the one canal barge with smoke wafting from the chimney.

Two walks ago (5 days?), there was a terrible smell emanating from one of the barges. Concerned me. I could only assume that 1) someone’s septic had burst, or 2) an animal had managed to get in, but not get out again. TERRIBLE odor. It lasted forever, or so it seemed, the wind drawing it along the side of the canal.

The snow was heavy, sparkling and two inches thick on every surface, not quite heavy enough to cascade off the branches in a tumble trying for the opening of your coat. Very bright and cold. I wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone and tended to stand off to the side and let people pass with a quick “hello”, the two syllables instantly marking me as a non-local anyway. I had too much time on my hands and took photos of snow, a losing proposition. Once in a while, large flakes would hurtle down from the sky, in the partial sun and grey, and glint like sparklers. Very pretty. A little dog ran up to me, white and brown with earnest eyes. I couldn’t see his people…indeed, he had run so far ahead of them he accompanied me back to where they were standing. Everyone has a walking stick and a knit cap. Wellies and hiking boots. Greens, greys, blues and browns. Once in a while you see someone like me, a little out of place, wearing an overcoat or the wrong boots. I assume they’ve driven in from elsewhere. And sure enough, at the end, there’s the SUV parked near the gate.

The pub has a warm fire. At the bar, they offer cappuccino of a powdered packaged sort. Sprinkle cinnamon on it and it does fine. Sometimes the place is packed, nowhere to sit. Stand at the counter, drink instant coffee. Order a packet of crisps. Head back. Other days, it’s deserted. Like today. I speak with the landlord for a while, who’s been curious about my nationality, where I’m from, why I’m here. He tells me there’s a beer fest in a few weeks. The local trains will run from noon to midnight to assist merrily tipsy afficionados up and down the track, from Froghall to Cheddleton. It sounds like a blast. Will go.

The landlord shows me a book he has behind the counter, about the history of the area. Collecting photos of things that no longer exist, factories, homes, kilns, lime barges. Melancholy, but very interesting, and I think that I can place several building’s ghosts on the walk back.

Mean to try a walk through Crowgutter Wood. Mainly for the name. Saw a puddle of crow feathers today, and wondering if it was a fight, or demise at the talons of one of the local raptors. Do they hunt crows? Are those really crow feathers? Maybe a blackbird.

Back now, inside, warm but not warm enough, winter being winter. Listening to Xaphan by Secret Chiefs 3 and wishing they’d pick up on my whimsical notions and tour northern England. Would love to show them off to my friends. Times passes: now the song B-side by the Sleepers plays...no need to wonder about them touring. Though I suppose that’s a grim and not very nice thing to say. More soon.

Insert pitiful tired noise here.

2009-09-20T19:48:00.000-07:00

Hey y'all...been travelling across the country and had the highest and most profoundly unrealistic hopes of keeping you informed all the way. But as it turns out, time is a tricky beast. I seemed to consistently run out, fall behind, fall further behind, lose sleep, break the speed limit, have rushed coffee, 7-11 tuna and check into hotels at midnight. Didn't leave a lot of room for the errant typing I'm presently attempting, much less actual writing.

As a quick patch - and with a better entry to follow - here are some slideshows from various points on the trip. The path followed was: Vegas, Moab, Silverthorne, Ogallala, Omaha, St. Louis, Chicago, Toledo, Utica. Soon to be in Leek, Staffordshire, but that's something else entirely.

Photos!

LAS VEGAS, Sept. 5th, 2009

HOOVER DAM, Sept. 6th, 2009

TRAVELLING, NV/UT Sept. 7, 2009

ARCHES NATIONAL PARK, Sept. 8, 2009 (despite the date on the slide show)

More soon!

Fugitive.

2009-08-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know what to think of the last blog entry, so let's move on.

I've been remiss re: posts; as so often happens, things less enjoyable get in the way.

THINGS LESS ENJOYABLE: A Brief History

I was laid off back in April. I worked for a reasonably prominent medical software company and cannot fault them for letting me go. I was a good worker, a hard worker, I received a scintillating performance review two weeks before getting the can...but I didn't have credentials. And this is something required in today's medical community. I lacked motivation regarding those required credentials, and it had something to do with my hatred of reading patient charts (my job, auditing and merging). So many terrible things happen to people, it keeps my own self-pity in check (most of the time).

In frantic pursuit of a job, I acquired another quickly, but had to go through the motions required of anyone touching medical records...background checks, fingerprinting, blood tests, vaccinations. Takes a long time. And by the time the two months of tests had passed, I no longer wanted the job. It dawned on me that staring at ER documents 12 hours a day just might drive me mad. Not that I haven't been a little bent already. It surprises me when I hear someone has been working in medical records for decades. They evidently have the best psychic defenses in the world (that or beware, because they're the most burned-out, not-caring crispy critters you'll meet). Not I.

At this point, it occurred to me that I may as well go with the gypsy mythos that's grown around me (long story, to be expanded upon another time in another fit of self-interest)...why not travel? I'm pretty sure I could always get some sort of under-the-table work. Might be dangerous, but shit: what's life if it isn't for living? I'm tired of the quotidian.

Thus in a frenzy of self-doubt and panic, I turned down the job (cementing their bad opinion of the company I originally worked for)...I arranged to see my family I haven't visited in ages, and put out feelers to friends in far-off places. The first person I thought of, a dear friend and good human being, wrote back positively.

And so here I am, 11 days from leaving California. It breaks my heart. I've never been so homesick - and haven't even left! But this will be good for me. I often think of the anime show "Kino's Journey", where her habit is to stay in a town no more than three days. Rationale being that after three days you begin to become attached. I can only agree. Though with me, it's perhaps more like three years.

"A smooth master of knowing when to disappear"

Another friend is presently going through a similar and yet much more convulsive move, and I'm always curious to find out how he is and what's happening. I need this parallel, I think, as things progress. Selfish, but there you have it.

As far as this blog is concerned, you will suddenly be lambasted with photos, videos, music, travel....I leave on September 4th.

THE PLAN GOES AS FOLLOWS:

Leaving for Las Vegas early Sept. 5th. Arriving for brunch. Staying for two days.

Leaving for Utah early Sept. 7. Arriving at hotel that night. Staying in Utah for two days...thinking Arches, Salt Lake/flats and Dinosaur Monument.

Leaving Utah the 9th and heading through Nebraska, which will be a LONG drive. Staying in Omaha with a friend, 1 day.

Leaving the 10th/11th and heading to Chicago, staying with a friend there for a day or two, ideally...though it may be a hotel and quick dinner with friends ^^ they're busy people!

Veering to St. Louis to visit a friend I've yet to meet.

Off to New York to see family. Staying in NY for two months.

Off to the UK to stay with a friend. Planning on taking trains to many of the surrounding cities and perhaps staying a weekend on this shore or that (this country or that - already have plans to visit Bourdeaux), if cost isn't prohibitive. Will certainly lurk about London. Thinking of visiting Edinburgh, though people have warned me off it and recommended Glasgow - they're forgetting I'm from the US and anything will do. It's all new and exciting.

A little overly so. Panic attacks, bad dreams, worry, stress. A constant slow low-level insomnia that hasn't stopped for a month. But I feel as though once I'm out there on the road, the excitement and glee will more than bandage all that.

In the spirit of things, I'm working on a mix (it's a long one!). It's a farewell to old loves, to friends, and a greeting to the new...and a maintaining of what I can.

"hello and goodbye and hello again"
coming soon, would that it could be put off a bit....

The mind of a 12-year old girl.

2009-08-06T21:49:00.000-07:00

I've been packing/storing/selling/donating all my things, as I'm movin' away and ne'er comin' back. Or something like that. I've decided to run like the skinniest slat-ribbed rat you ever did see from the sinking ship that is California. For a while. A breather. I need a rest.

So, in the spirit of shedding an old skin, I've been going through all my stored papers and sorting what's important from what isn't - 8 boxes of paper so far thrown out or awaiting a shredder. But in the midst of these piles of mouldering dusty notes, I've found a wealth of old journal entries.

Now let me tell you, I was a journal-writing fool when I was a kid. Not a day went by without something being scratched in a notebook. And I found a very odd bit of writing today, front and back of the sheet have competely different tones, and I scratch my head a bit, trying to remember what it was like. I'll transcribe here, all misspellings from the original retained.

Side 1:
"Marijuana
~~Aspirin~~
LSD -
cocaine
glue - solvent
tobacco
lalalalalalalalalalalalalala
PCP - angel dust
Speed - methedrine
opium
morphine
deneral - methedome
gasoline vapors - solvent
hashish
alcohol"

Page 2:
"3/16/83
Breakfast - small bowl of Raisan Bran or 1/2 grapefruit
Shower - 6:30
Dressed - 6:45
Blow-dry hair - 6:50
Homework together - 7:00
Sneaks + Jacket - 7:10
Catch Bus - 7:25
Locker - 7:35
Mrs. Mercier - 7:42 (about)
Look at Paul - 7:42-8:45
Mr. Wilbur - (look at Paul) 8:48-9:30
Mrs. Chykowski - Math
- talk to Jody about P + J
- look at Paul
- talk to Paul
Band - look at Tim Foster, the drummer
1st period lunch - look at Eric Reber
2nd period lunch - look at Eric V., Richard C.
6th Period - (health) look at DJ
Gym - hope that we'll be playing with the boys
Music - look at Chris Drake
Rush to bus
falsely bump into Jim
Go home and dream about next day."

Really. I guess this goes to remind me that children are crazy. Or at least I was. And hyper-sexed. That much I remember. Instinct cranks it up! Fascination with sex and drugs begins early, early, early. I can remember boys asking me if I was a virgin when 10 years old...I had no idea what they were talking about, thought it was bad, and so misjudged and said "No!" with a horrified face.

Hilarity ensued.

I vaguely remember Chris Drake being my first kiss, even if it was just a peck on the cheek and a flower. Ah, memories.

There are cities where people never say hello.

2009-06-30T23:07:00.000-07:00

I walked home today with a bleeding Achille's heel and an incipient bad burn. There were flecks of the beach's fool's gold in the spot rubbed raw by my shoe - this was noted after limping across a four-way stop two blocks from home and bravely looking down the back of my lower leg. But oddly, today was the most beautiful I've seen Long Beach...it presented an alluring face, reminding me of why I'm loathe to leave.

Walking to the bluffs, I felt my shoe chafing, but paid it little mind. The cloud cover was sporadic and pleasant; chilly with a light wind, maybe 68 degrees? Watching the kites floating in the sky, I thought about some decisions that need to be made. But to be honest, I didn't much want to think on them and so let the music float me away as I walked. The beach was clean - the city had come like a thief in the night and taken all the garbage. The water glowed turquoise, a rare sight at any time, and those millions of speckles of pyrite made the sand look as though it had been touched up by a Bond girl make-up artist. It glowed and shimmered, reminding me of my old flower-shopgirl gig and the champagne roses we'd spray with gold glitter for proms and weddings. One abusively red tomato sat perfectly amongst the strands of washed-up bladder kelp - I have no idea why. As I walked, I passed a tall black man playing a cornet in the sand...didn't recognize the tune, but it was a little mournful, and provided an interesting dissonance with what was playing on my iPod. On my way back later, he would play "My country, 'tis of thee"...fair enough, with the 4th creeping up and all. An ironic harmony, as I chose to listen to Hugh Masekela's eponymous album today.

"Masekela" was a revelation for me. I found it on a ¿Revolución, No? jag; was in an absolutely torrid love affair with the site. It is most certainly one of my favorite albums; a desert island pick, as it were. And the man is so f***ing cool. You listen to "Head Peepin'" and tell me the man wasn't hip as they come. "You can snort and smoke and pop and shoot, and you dig your LSD, but baby did you peep into your head last night?" Brilliant brass player, but with a frosty sound...less like South Africa and more like New York. This album bounces back and forth between cool instrumental licks and powerful revolutionary protest tracks. Here's the song "Blues For Huey" - any time I hear it, I can instantly transport back to a northern city, in the late fall, grey, rainy, cold, face upturned, leaves swirling, that dancing piano and smooth trumpet making me close my eyes in enjoyment.

In what seemed to be a natural progression, brainpan heated by the sun, and giddy from how pretty everything was, I moved on to the compilation "Hugh Masekela/From The Vaults Of Chisa", on which Masekela pulls little-known tracks from the Chisa years 1965-1975. The first track is the previously unreleased and amazing "Afro Beat Blues" by Ojah with Hugh Masekela, a heavy funk-ridden song. I was desperate to find more Masekela albums and had wound my way up through LA traffic to Amoeba, thinking I had a pretty good chance for an instant fix there. This cd stood out prominently in all its militant-looking yellow and black, and featuring a favored image of him. I didn't realize until home that it was actually a compilation of other musicians he'd worked with as a producer. Doesn't matter, as it's wonderful. It led me straight into the wonderful arms of Letta Mbulu.

"Letta" is an album so little-known it makes me sad. She's an amazing, volcanic talent - strong voice that over the years became strong enough to nearly cut. Both she and Masekela were expats from South Africa residing in the US; both were taken under the guidance (and friendship) of Harry Belafonte, among many others. Listening to Letta Mbulu is such a phenomenon for me; I want to write in glowing terms but find the words failing me. "Letta" has highs and lows, but the highs keep you coming back for another fix. The first track I ever heard by Mbulu was Mahlalela (Lazy Bones), remixed on the ¿Revolución, No? site as an add-on to the "Masekela" download. Then, on the Chisa comp, four of her best tracks from "Letta" are presented (including the original "Mahlalela"). Awesome stuff. The song is included in the YouTube "vid" here:

Anyhow, it's time to wrap up. I may go on further and explore Letta's work with Cannonball Adderley's label, or perhaps acquire a few albums by Miriam Makeba. If so, I'll certainly let you know! Another walk on another day.

Out.

2009-06-24T20:28:00.000-07:00

Out again in the sun today, really trying to make a go of it. As I've mentioned to a friend, I'll be brown as a nut and fit as a lass. Echoes of Daffy Duck. Today's walk was a bit more pensive. I've started having migraines sans the actual migraine part...just the auras, or, to be more realistic, hallucinations. Two (and a half, one tried to pick up speed but couldn't get off the runway) in three days. I gather "ocular migraines" are much preferable to their kin, but it still has me a little down. They start small, as if you stared in the sun for too long, but get bigger and bigger and it always ends with my vision being too skewed to even walk, much less read or (god forbid) drive. I recently live in horror of one of these bad boys catching me on a long stretch of traffic-ridden freeway.

The beach was cleaned up, not so disgusting as the other day...and instead of a trash skip having overturned, today it looked as though the local fruit stand had taken a dip. There were oranges and lemons rolling in the sand, and an entire split watermelon with a spray of distressingly meaty-looking chunks sprayed around a goodly 12 feet or so. It looked so much like a smashed animal I had to count on logic to provide me with the disturbing intelligence that seagulls would be all over the pieces if they were actual meat. It looked as though someone had tried to play the summer watermelon smashing game, but hadn't bothered with the follow-up. Some young teens were excitedly digging in the sand, which worries me occasionally - I wonder if they have a critter who haplessly wandered into their clutches. But not today. They were building a sand castle and there were several excited invites to join in. Oh, yes, that would have looked just fine. Social mores aside, I was too tired to handle the yelling. Smiled and moved on, to find more fruit playing in the sun and sand.

Today's soundtrack was a little off, not really what I'd consider "summer" music, but I'd had an urge since last night:

I began with the eponymous Liquid Liquid album, which is zippy enough: percussion-laden and exciting in a low-key way. I located it on emusic shortly after careful consideration of the $50 OOP cd on ebay. Listening reminded me of my trip to London last October, during which a friend and I would "meet" in Starbucks each morning and go over my day's plans. One a.m., he suggested I visit the Rough Trade West shop near Portobello. I walked from my hotel, spurning the tube, so it took a while - and was tired once I got there. I picked and plucked from the racks, trying to decide what I wanted, and decided upon a cd reissue of the post-punk album "Memory Span" by the Lines, entirely due to their song "White Night" (which is wonderfully sleazy). While making the purchase, the gent behind the counter looked at me quizzically and asked why this cd in particular had picked up in popularity, and I could only shrug...I knew it had been posted on a friend's blog not too long ago, but wasn't sure that would have a world-wide sales trend effect despite the immense popularity of his blog. Shrug. Then we began talking about Liquid Liquid. He told me they'd recently played in London, and inferred that some bands should let it lie. But I would have loved to see them back in the day. Nearly everyone who has ever seen sunlight (and those who haven't) know this band if only because they provided the bass sample for the song "White Lines" via their tune "Cavern". My personal favorite from the album is "Out", a funky beat-ridden track that I would've gleefully danced to in clubs, drink in hand.

It seemed natural enough to follow up one New York Noise act with another, so I turned on Lizzy Mercier Descloux's 1979 album "Press Colour". She continues to be one of my absolute favorites. Review after review states how she wasn't all that talented, but I beg to differ. You can play your brains out, but you either have it or you don't. And she most certainly HAD it. "Hard-Boiled Babe" will always be one of my most-played tracks. To be honest, I was introduced to both Liquid Liquid and LMD via the brilliant New York Noise compilation from Soul Jazz Records (so forlorn about not going there while in London). I'm a slow beginner, but catch up fast. And thanks to Lizzy I then hopped on the ZE/Mutant Disco train. Excellent snowball effect!

If I'd walked further today, the next album might have been Essential Logic's "Fanfare In The Garden" - I think it's the finger cymbal sound in EL's "Love Eternal" that transfers so readily from those used by Lizzy.

Funny: hadn't realized until now that I located all three of these albums on emusic. Do listen to the samples provided; I think you might get hooked. As for me, I'm off for a cuppa joe and some reading. Enough sun for one day.

It's a righteous life we're leadin', friends...

2009-06-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

...or, if not righteous, perhaps one could take a slightly cynical look at one of the next lines of lyrics from "Righteous Life" (found on Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66's LP "Stillness"): but no one else notices destiny except the free. And as I walked the beach once again today, I could only but acknowledge that I'm crazy-free at the moment, up to my ass in freedom; but destiny? Not so sure I could see that if it poked me with a sharp stick.

The beach had a different aspect today; it looked as though a garbage skip had turned over offshore. All manner of things moving along the shoreline, from used (or unused? who can tell after a while?) condoms to styrofoam pieces (do people still use that stuff?) to hairspray cans (again, huh?). A few empty bottles that once contained guarana and caffeine energy drinks rolled about. And look at that, an old fishline complete with hook whispering past my ankle, creepy as hell. But the condition of the beach ddn't get me down too much - I made a silent resolution to contact the city about it and mentally moved on. Doesn't seem to have stopped many other people either: lots of kids playing in the mucked-up water, and fit-types jogging the sand away. An oh-so urban feel today, like "what can you do when you can't get out of the city on a hot sunny day" - you make due with what you have, and enjoy yourself.

And so, today's soundtrack was a little different.

The Funky 16 Corners, which I purchased from emusic, is a grand compilation of little-known funk songs, all excellent. My personal favorite is "What About You (In The World Today)":

"How'd you get that hole in your shoe?"
"By looking for a job that you know wasn't there."

The funk comp was followed by one of my more subtle favorites, the aforementioned "Stillness" by Sergio Mendes and Brasil '66. I agree with allmusic's review, which states it's the "great sleeper album of Sergio Mendes' first A&M period". Lani Hall really captured me here, even if she left the album mid-production. I went on to acquire her "Sundown Lady" lp - it didn't please me as much, but is still thoroughly anjoyable. Mendes rendition of "For What It's Worth" is still one of my favorite covers (please check out the link for a quick listen)...I originally heard it on the Mojo Cub Dancefloor Jazz compilations, and that in turn prompted me to get this full album. Comps have been very good to me.

I suppose if I'd walked a little further, I might have started listening to the Mojo mixes or Roots of Chicha...but hey, we have a whole summer ahead of us!

Summer walk.

2009-06-20T23:25:00.000-07:00

Today I took a walk. A silly walk. One that was surely too long...but the clouds were out and it's such a rarity in Los Angeles, I felt I should take advantage. For the last 11 years, I've thought that sooner or later I'd head on the sandy journey from Long Beach to Seal Beach, and today seemed an excellent time. Out of work and out of patience...a long stroll would do me fine. And I can't help feeling that I'm saying goodbye to the LA area soon. No maudlin feeling to it, but suddenly think it's time to do a few things I've always meant to do. A little naive as it turns out, as you can't walk from Long Beach to Seal Beach...at least not via the shore! Any map might have told me this, but I'm fond of flying by the seat of my pants. So I walked to the very end of Ocean Blvd., which unhappily ends in a huge marina. Suppose I could have taken a swim to the other shore, while dodging yachts and sailboats. About this time, the clouds became fickle and Catalina-bound...and left me in the harsh sun. And for the first time ever, I cared not a whit what people thought of me - sun umbrella out and proudly carried! Good thing too. As it is I'm burned; can't imagine the blistered mess that might have occurred otherwise. Funny how a pleasant stroll can turn into a test of endurance.

At any rate, beside the mild irritation at not reaching my goal, and the concern for my skin's health, I listened to some fabulous summer music. For sunny days, for walking along shorelines, for drinking margaritas under an umbrella, for reading a book in the backyard, for having friends over in the hazy mosquito-filled twilight...I recommend:

Tuca's "Dracula, I Love You" (you have to take one or two added steps at the marvelous Loronix's Happy Hour to get this file), which I was turned onto through Kevin Pearce's rather wonderful blog "Your Heart Out".

Orlann Divo's "A Chave Do Sucesso", an absolutely amazing and sunny album. Recommended to me by a dear friend.

Thievery Corporation's "Babylon Rewound" , a remix album of "The Richest Man In Babylon". This was acquired from emusic - a curiosity pick - and am quite happy with it. I still feel emusic is under-accessed. Start with the editors' picks and then lose control from there. Last time I visited the site, it was for a Slim Gaillard fix.

And by various artists, the "Achilifunk - Gypsy Soul 1969-1979" comp . Amazing! This was referred to me by another great friend, and the blog upon which I found it is one of those, "Where the hell did the day go?!?" sites. The music-curious could get lost in the spiraling snowball effect.

Believe me, great music to get sunburned to ^^ And these blogs/sites are ALL stunning. Please check them out.

Studio Ghibli and komuso.

2009-06-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

A few friends and I were watching "The Cat Returns", which is a constant favorite in the dvd collection. While some Ghibli fans deride it for being too simplistic, I think it's quite charming. I see it as a continuation of "Whisper of the Heart"; to me, it's the story that the young girl finally writes about the Baron (to see a Ghibli filmography, go here). There's a ceremonial parade scene in Cat Returns, where the Cat King arrives to thank Haru for saving his son. In the procession, a cat stately stands there playing a flute with a basket on its head.

There's also a later scene in which a similar (or the same) cat is in the King's orchestra.

I've seen similar images in plenty of other places, and know the basket is a cultural reference; but, this particular night, not knowing what the hell it meant became irksome. So I googled "basket flute Japanese" and found this site.

Mystery solved!

To quote the site: "The origin of the shakuhachi, according to one theory, has been traced back as far as ancient Egypt and is presumed to have migrated through India and China before entering Japan in the Sixth Century. Its popularity, however, was short-lived and it wasn't until the Thirteenth Century that it was revived by the Fuke sect of Buddhism which sought to replace sutra chanting with sui zen or "blowing zen." Not until the Edo Period (1603-1867) did this instrument reach its final and most decisive phase of development. During this era, marked by the disintegration of feudal Japan, the shakuhachi was favored by swelling numbers of uprooted samurai warriors (ronin) who joined the ranks of itinerant preachers known as komuso ("Priests of Emptiness and Nothingness"). The komuso wore large baskets (tengai) over their heads to symbolize their detachment from the world. Violent clan struggles which marked the late Sixteenth Century forced some of the komuso to organize themselves into a society for self-protection. Members of the Fukeshu sought to deceive the shogun -- Japan's supreme warlord -- with forged documents giving them exclusive rights to play the shakuhachi and to solicit alms with it. In return for this privilege they agreed to spy on the activities of other ronin. Legend has it that these komuso, forbidden to carry their revered swords, redesigned the shakuhachi from the root of the bamboo making it longer and stouter for use as a club as well as an instrument for spiritual attainment."

At any rate, The Cat Returns is a fun film; it's perhaps the only anime film I prefer to watch with English dubbing, as the actors seem perfect (for instance, Peter Boyle playing Muta, or Cary Elwes playing the Baron). Charming and perhaps every little girl's dream. A visit to the Cat Kingdom? Sign me up!

And finally, Muta ever-so reminds me of Shazbutt. I miss her attitude:

Alain Corneau and noir.

2009-05-31T12:32:00.000-07:00

To repeat myself in a few different venues: I saw Alain Corneau speak last night; he presented Police Python 357 starring the reasonably yummy and yet oh-so-French Yves Montand. And he said something (well, quite a few things) that interested me. Someone asked him how he felt watching his film on a large screen for the first time in x amount of years. His answer? "I wasn't there" (i.e., he didn't watch it with us). The reason? He states he rarely watches his films in theaters, 1) because he might look at this old film and say "My god, that was a good film, I've become much worse" or 2) he would watch it and wonder how he could have made something so terrible. These are his fears, and so he won't watch them.

As an aside, apparently Simone Signoret was aggravated by all the make-up and furs, and wanted to look natural, whilst he needed someone who looked the part of a bourgeois woman with a summer home and three cars. She was also quite perturbed by the way her character commits suicide in the film, and long negotiations between director and actress began. Granted, after the screening, a discussion ensued regarding Corneau's use of the "fantastique"...where men throw acid on their faces to avoid recognition; where a woman who's ill and can hardly leave her bed somehow manages to wrangle her legs enough to desperately drive to someone's house and beg them to kill her. Where the main character, in the end, blasts through a scene any modern-day action film director would be proud of.

Apparently he wrote the script in a rather feverish five days. The film was shot in 8 weeks with a "typical crew" of about 40 people. The amazing soundtrack is by Georges Delerue, and quite surprising for the time it was made; as Corneau says, it is full of discord and chorus.

Corneau was asked why he is so interested in loss of identity as a theme, and he said that noir isn't noir without that loss. You shouldn't be able to pinpoint who is good, or bad. If you can, it isn't a noir film.

Boy, I've been paraphrasing the hell out of poor Monsieur Corneau. Anyways...! Here is the LACMA link if anyone is interested in catching the rest of the French Crime Wave shows; and hey, give me a call if you're going! ^^

May 29 7:30 PM Série Noire
May 29 9:30 PM The Clockmaker
May 30 7:30 PM Police Python 357
June 5 7:30 PM Bob le flambeur
June 5 9:20 PM Le Doulos
June 6 7:30 PM Touchez pas au Grisbi
June 6 9:10 PM Rififi
June 12 7:30 PM Le cercle rouge
June 13 7:30 PM Purple Noon
June 13 9:35 PM Elevator to the Gallows
June 19 7:30 PM Classe tous risques
June 19 9:20 PM Garde à vue
June 20 7:30 PM Coup de torchon
June 20 9:45 PM Shoot the Piano Player

An animation antidote.

2009-05-30T18:42:00.000-07:00

This entry is meant as an antidote to the Oshima entry, but it's giving me guff.

As my friends have been hearing ad nauseum, I’ve been watching too many Japanese films from the 60’s. There aren’t a lot of positive female role models to be found; if there’s a film without a beating, humiliation, murder and/or rape, it’s because everyone’s too busy trying to defeat the giant monster. That's a sweeping statement, I know...but I can't even feel guily about it right now.

Thusly, I’ve decided to write about one of the more clever and charming animated shows to come out in recent years: Azumanga Daioh. A friend (a male friend no less) introduced me to the series; I watched several shows and then intended to purchase the dvd boxed set. Years later, I’ve finally gotten around to it!

The show is about school. And girls. And girls in school. It manages to touch on a lot of teen (and pre-teen) issues without going anywhere too dark…and yet doesn’t soften the subject matter either. It becomes almost sentimental at times, but manages to avoid it through the rather eccentric characters, who, while unique, also remind us of people we knew. Or were. Pile on this some very nice animation and an exceptionally charming soundtrack, and I have to say this is something that shouldn’t be missed. The show manages to remain somewhat timeless through anime flairs and school uniforms, and the subject matter never becomes dated. And if you went to school, ever… the show will speak to you.

TECHNICALLY

I may as well begin with a slightly technical approach. My aforementioned friend insisted I wouldn’t be able to find anything like what he had bootlegged – and so, of course, I had to prove him wrong. Which admittedly, was easy enough to do years later. The shows he’d copied had since gone from English-dub-only to a wonderful Japanese language w/English subtitles version (the Class Album boxed set). And it’s marvelous! Not only do you get excellent translations of what characters are saying, but it also translates titles, signs, and any newspaper, poster and random print in the background. Unlike many subtitled films, you feel you’re in on the mise-en-scène jokes. For instance, when the two female teachers (to be discussed later) go out drinking, and one has to carry the other down the alley, the sign in the background says “Please sort your trash.” It’s little things like this that an audience misses when they rely on (sometimes dubious) translation. The show itself is also filled with cultural references and nigh training sessions for the uninitiated. Highly useful for someone intending to visit or live in Japan. I've learned more spoken Japanese from this show than from any cd or book.

And now, on to the characters.

SAKAKI

Sakaki is one of many high school archetypes, the huge girl who scares everyone simply because she’s more developed. She’s taller than anyone in the class, her hair longer, her breasts are bigger, she’s more athletic (despite not belonging to any teams), and in the beginning, people assume she’s a rough, getting into fights outside school (they see the bandages on her hands). Sakaki is a terrifically sweet person and has a vivid imagination that often runs away with her. She’s very shy, quiet and monosyllabic, and it’s especially touching as she begins to enter the group of friends. Everyone thinks she’s cool, but you get the impression she’d rather not be noticed at all. She's always surprised and modest when someone invites her along on an outing...it's nearly heartbreaking. She’s an interesting play on all the poetic romantic stuff we know, with her long hair and quiet manner, and yet is indeed terribly cool.

Sakaki is terribly embarrassed of her large breasts. There’s one entertaining discussion in an early show where Osaka states that Sakaki is an American because her breasts are so huge, and that Tomo is Japanese because hers are so small. This is an ongoing concern for all girls, and women, everywhere…hell, I’m 38 and still feel bad when someone points out another woman with (what I perceive to be) a nicer chest. But when you’re a maturing girl, the fact you have breasts at all can be quite traumatizing; people around you suddenly treat you differently, sexually. Dependent upon whether you start developing early or late, that spins off into its own sets of stressors and trauma as people tease you about being too big (if you started early) or being too small (if you started late, if at all). And bras are a challenge for a little while. I remember the exact turning point for me: walking down a school hall one day in a white blouse, and a boy took me to the side and told me my nipples were visible through the shirt. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be an issue until that very moment. Rest of day spent with book clutched at chest. And I wore bras from then onward.

KAORIN

One must follow the note on Sakaki with Kaorin. Kaorin is another character easy to identify with. In school, it’s common for both girls and boys to have crushes on peers of the same sex…it might be because of a perceived “coolness” or for other reasons, and isn’t always acted on, but is there nonetheless. Kaorin is a great play on this. She admires Sakaki from afar at first, spouting about how cool she is: “Kakkoii!”

I think Kaorin goes a little beyond the typical girl-girl crushy stuff where you practice kissing each other because you’re learning how to kiss boys (supposedly), and may be a baby lesbian in development - which is a lovely inclusion for a children’s cartoon. She adores Sakaki, and in true crush style, freaks out whenever she misses the chance to see her, get a photo, attend a sleepover, etc. There are some very cute ultra-gay fantasies including showers of petals and rainbows in the back while she and Sakaki dance together, ride a horse together, walk together...in one episode about New Year dreams, she has a fantasy-dream where Sakaki rides in on a horse and saves her from bandits, with Sakaki in the traditional male role and Kaorin gleefully clutching her; so happy! - until her mother wakes her.

KIMURA

The male teacher who’s “fond” of his female students is a problem most girls have to face. I myself went to a school with a rather infamous coach who was overly fond of wrapping girls ankles and giving them "massages". All in the name of sports, of course. This character is brilliantly inserted into the show via Kimura-sensei, the classic lit professor. Much like in any school, he hasn’t done enough to cause real trouble, but everyone knows about his proclivities. The teachers feel they have to put up with him (to a point) and the students, while a little clueless, know enough to realize he’s a bit creepy and start to hypothesize about his personal life (in one episode, the girls suppose he’s a killer who's hiding bodies in the bushes). There’s great shock and perturbation when it’s discovered he has a beautiful and kind wife…no one can quite put it together. This temporarily gains him renewed sympathy and trust from a few of the girls. They finally come to the conclusion that his wife is an unfortunate person with bad judgement and is to be pitied. No one is quite sure how to report him, or whether he’s done anything to truly warrant it (or whether he is indeed a bad person) so he slides by time and time again.

In the end, inside and outside cartoons, the problematic male teacher is a rite of passage for every young woman. I gather from male friends that there's a sort of polar parallel in "the female teacher who was my first time (or who should have been)".

NYAMO and YUKARI

Yukari is the English teacher. She's self-involved and lazy (to the point of having all the same people from her first year class in her second year class because she doesn't want to learn new names); she's a risk-taker, a gambler, a drinker and a loudmouth. Nyamo Kurosawa is the girls’ Physical Education teacher, and is perceived to be inutterably cool by most of the students. She’s very sensitive to the needs of the students and supportive whenever she can be.

Nyamo's amiable rivalry with Yukari is evident at the school, and the girls sometimes wonder about what their relationship could possibly be. Nyamo is prone to admit mistakes, and follows through on promises. This of course provides the “straight man” for Yukari-chan, who is loud, excitable, fun-loving and duplicitous. She’s deeply envious of Nyamo’s popularity among the students and tries to throw a wrench in the works whenever she can (as long as the results are to her advantage). She’s another person the girls have to weigh, deciding what her motivations are and whether they (should) like her. She and Nyamo were peers at the same school, and this lends to their weary acceptance of one another - in this way, foreshadowing Tomo and Yomi's relationship. Nyamo and Yukari add a slightly more adult, if no less immature, flavor to certain stories...and point out that, despite being older, women still have many of the same problems the girls do themselves. Some things never change.

OSAKA

"Osaka" is the spaciest of space cadets. Another type we can all remember from school (and in fact I may have fit into this category). She is sweet and soft-voiced, and prone to believe or hypothesize the most outstanding things. She's intelligent, and can be quite clever at times - or is she clever all the time, and it's us who doesn't get it? Osaka (who gained her nickname because she's a new student from, well, Osaka) has a goal to improve herself, to be more aware, to learn more, to be more like her idols. To "get it together". In reality, she falls asleep often; everywhere, in fact. She's easily distracted and muses on strange things. To be honest, this character is a little too close to me to be fair about ^^ I remember having a boyfriend in early college who called me...hm-mmm, Space Girl? Something like that. He wasn't too fond of the art thing either. Which is fine, as he in turn taught me exactly what I didn't want in men. A call out to all men! Appreciate your artistic spacey girls!

YOMI

Yomi is the other character I'd identify with most...wish I could say it was Sakaki and Chiyo-chan, but nope. Yomi is very studious and serious; she's generally classified in the show as being second in smarts after Chiyo. She's tall, reasonably athletic and has a good shape, but is constantly worried about being fat (something she's relentlessly teased about by Tomo). She seems to me to be the Velma of the show, bright, quick on the uptake, but not as cool as Sakaki, as smart as Chiyo or as sporty as Kagura. I think this is a pretty typical stance for most students; not everyone can be the best at something. Being surrounded by talented and/or attractive peers can be devastating. But she holds herself well - she's strong and is the one who keeps everybody else balanced. Yomi's there to provide support and common sense when the others can't. She and Tomo have been together since the beginning of grade school, although you discover it's not necessarily because of friendship that they still interact. Tomo aggravates Yomi to no end with her skittish fantasies and ennui, but in the end, they're indulgent toward each other. It might be the glasses that make me identify so solidly with her.

TOMO

Tomo is described in the show as being the class wildcat idiot, which isn't too far off. She's the perfect expression of those people who are ruled by their chemistry, off-the-charts energy and twitchiness, lack of patience and focus. She too has a strong fantasy-life, invariably having dreams in which she is somehow better than everyone else. She's insanely competitive even though she excels at nothing. However, her energy lends itself to the others and can be infectious...and deep down, she is kind and can (rarely) have moments of insight. Tomo and Yomi are inextricably linked throughout the series, Tomo relentlessly teasing and aggravating; Yomi frustrated and angry. As I mentioned, we see an early version of Nyamo and Yukari in these two.

Tomo reminds me of almost all the boys in school: legs bobbing at 200 bobs a minute, shaking the desks with energy, joking, teasing, doing malicious things without really thinking about it because they're so bored or frustrated. Except, in an odd play on the type, not only is she a girl, but she likes to think of herself as a particularly cute girl as well. Her fantasies regularly showcase her in bikinis and haute couture, or better yet, as manga-style superheroes (and she seems to have a fixation on Lupin). Tomo is that jittery up-the-wall friend you always hoped you'd see on the playground because they always came up with the best games. And later, the friend who'd con you into going to a college frat party and leave without you.

KAGURA

Kagura is a later addition to the main cast - she's introduced early on, but you don't get to really meet her until the second year. Kagura is the physical type who's struggling in school. She excels at sports and is the best on the swim team - she feels strongly competitive with Sakaki, who beat her in a race the first year, and in fact is in the running with Sakaki for being the coolest girl in school (and also the one with the biggest chest). While they could have fallen completely for the "dumb jock" stereotype, the show manages to develop her character with those facets we miss when we slap labels around. Although I must admit one of my favorite moments is when she, Tomo and Osaka form the "Knuckleheads" to spite Yomi, who won't show them her schoolwork. They play the stupidity up a bit in that segment! Kagura is good-natured and means well, although this doesn't always work out to the advantage of everyone involved, as she has the empathy of a brick.

CHIYO

And finally we get to Chiyo-chan ^^ Chiyo could be said to be the main character...I feel she's far and away the eye of the show. Chiyo is a 10 year-old prodigy who's receiving higher schooling. She's mature for her age, and yet is still a little girl at heart. Ten is right on that cusp between jumping rope and your first menstrual cycle, and she's an excellent representation if this. Chiyo is a peace-maker and organizer. At times she's shown seeing her grade school friends in the street, and she feels the difference and mourns her childhood just a little. But she brushes herself off and realizes she's off to better - or at least different - things. Chiyo worries terribly about dragging her class down in some ways. She's hyper-aware of her small size and poor performance in sports. She looks at her grown friends and can't wait to grow up. Chiyo is the smartest in her class, and the most responsible. Her family is quite wealthy; the house is nearly a mansion. These things might work to a person's disadvantage, but Chiyo is a sparkling individual. She always sees the best in her friends, although at times her age doesn't allow her to see the bigger picture.

It is very touching how she worries that she and the others will grow apart after school is over. It reminds me of similar concerns as grade school moves to junior high; your classes are shuffled, another whole school of kids is mixed with the people you knew and your best friend is in a different lunch period. Times like this, one finds new friends and perhaps grows out of old. You're aware of the changes but can't help it. Circumstance. And certainly when high school ends and college begins, that's a true test of friendship. So her worries seem valid, but in the end, unnecessary.

KAWAII and NON-HUMAN CHARACTERS

There are other characters in the show nearly as important as the humans: Tadakichi-san, Chiyo's dog; Kamineko, the evil stray cat forever cutting Sakaki up; Nekokoneko, the absurdly cute kitten-on-cat plushie; and "Father", which is a very surreal addition to the show, a stuffed cat Sakaki dreams is Chiyo's father. He occurs quite randomly, more often than not floating through the background or shown as a stuffed toy on a shelf. These characters add a sense of the fantastic to the show (for instance, Kamineko bolting 100 miles per minute around an alley, Father inviting Sakaki in for tomatoes, or Tadakichi-san running across a field of multicolored clouds), and an opportunity for more development of the girls personalities (as Sakaki bonds with Tadakichi-san, or Chiyo throws her kawaii Nekokoneko towel over the fence to dry). Animals, live and stuffed, make up a huge portion of the show.

Boy oh boy, I've gone on too much - but this was a hard post to write. I could either create a concise summary of the show and feel I'd cheated you, or do what I've done, which is to go on ad nauseum about something other than Oshima ;) No matter how much I write, I don't feel it lends any strength to the show, which is plenty strong on its own. If you have a chance, watch it.

On an ending note, here's some group shots - these more than anything express the distinct and sometimes eccentric comeraderie of the characters:

Bye y'all! Until soon.

Nagisa Oshima brought me daisies.

2009-05-23T11:55:00.000-07:00

I'm ruefully acquainting myself with Nagisa Oshima's filmography.

LACMA has been presenting the retrospective "In The Realm Of Oshima"...an amazing opportunity to see some very rare films. However, I must admit that watching ten films by Oshima in eight days (I missed three last week) has been brutal.

Today I've seen his "100 Years Of Japanese Cinema" and so must revise and review the blog entry I'd originally intended. There's no pretense to my having the writing skill a true movie reviewer would require; I have a passion for film, but it's scattered, erratic; my knowledge regarding Japanese film is thin ice, and my knowledge of Japanese history laughable. I can pretend to understand certain references, metaphors and allegories, but it's unlikely to be well-informed understanding. What you're getting here are responses from the belly, first impressions, immediate reactions.

I started with Boy, which at the time felt quite heavy to me. Little did I know it would almost seem a light-hearted romp compared to some of the other films. Oshima infuses the blackest humor, which I enjoy. And I can handle mind-numbing cynicism and critique of the social milieu. I might agree with him. He's taken ideas that I can feel in my gut, and expressed them so eloquently they're hard to deny. I don't agree with what he does to his female characters, but we'll come to that in the blow-by-blow.

So, in order of viewing:

Shonen aka Boy, 1969

Regarding Boy: a respected friend recommended it, stating it was one of his favorite films. I can see how it would be. It contains a melange of emotional detritus, real thought, not much in the way of sentimentality. [Perhaps this is what's difficult for me when watching these films: they are too real. People make bizarre decisions, sometimes amazingly cruel and whimsical. They base their actions on love or fidelity to family or an ideal, no matter how absurd or contrary. And sometimes they do things for no reason at all, hard bloody things, just to do them. Perhaps to feel, or perhaps because they're so numb they can't perceive consequence anymore. Vengeance is petty and violent, sympathy tends to be punished. Love is crushed under heel.] In Boy (based on a true story), he is torn between escaping (the "grandparents" fantasy always there in his head somewhere) and that familial feeling we all have, much more realistic, of "I dislike you, but I must care for you, you are family". It smacks of adult children who abuse invalid parents. So he returns to crooked and abusive parents who need him for their con, and who (supposedly) can't sustain themselves without him. The con consists of being "hit" by cars and forcing the perturbed motorists to settle in cash to avoid a lawsuit or arrest. He fakes the accidents (even though he is regularly injured in reality) and his parents collect the money. He feels some real love for his little brother, and those moments between the two are touching, and a surprising gift and respite. Oshima has a knack for subtle side-stories, like flash fiction. While walking the streets alone, Boy watches another young boy beaten and bullied by two teens in an alley; when he finally moves in to show sympathy, the beaten boy in turn throws him into the mud. Humiliation begets humiliation.

Taiyo no hakaba aka The Sun's Burial, 1960

The Sun's Burial is the film that laid out the true landscape of what I was in for. It shows you people numbed and crazed by slum living, their choices making no sense to anyone not existing there at that moment. It reminds me of books I've read on internment camp behavior, where empathy is annihilated and the survival instinct takes over. In this film, any vague kindness (you have to look for it) or show of mercy is viciously attacked and snuffed out. I want to call Hanako the main character. She's a young slum-dwelling prostitute running a scam. The film rotates around her actions which are seemingly mindless and vengeful...but it comes back to survival of the fittest. If the other people involved with her hadn't tried to pull cons of their own, essentially manipulating her - which is DEEPLY resented - things may not have occurred as they do. Or maybe it would have played out exactly the same way. She burns everything to the ground, a devastation of bitterness, jealousy and child-like wrath. Honestly, despite the despicable and demonic nature of Hanako, I see a ray of hope in her that I don't see in many of Oshima's other female characters. She at least gets up and frantically tries to claw her way out of the pit.

Nihon no yoru to kiri aka Night and Fog in Japan, 1960

Oh, this was a doozy, as idealism attacks idealism, layered with the personal goals and self-interest of the participants. This film reminded me of a discussion I had with someone regarding non-profits and personal interests: everyone has a goal, and it may not fit cleanly within the larger ideology. The film spews a dog's breakfast of misunderstandings, suspicions and dogma onto the screen, not to make you believe or understand them, but to point them out in glaring relief. They're highlighted with supreme pessimism. It's a seething mass of philosophies and social intrigues. As an aside, I first recognized Oshima's incredible faithfulness to a particular cast while watching this film (notably actors like Kei Sato, Atsuko Kaku and Rokko Toura). You see the same faces again and again...which can be good or bad, depending. It distracts somewhat, perhaps more-so when glutting yourself during an unhealthy binge as I've been doing. These films were never meant to be viewed so closely together.

Ai to kibo no machi aka A Town Of Love And Hope, 1959

No YouTube reults for this one, which is a shame. Much like Boy, it has a sympathetic resonance some of the other films deeply lack. Oshima chooses the subject of a poor family living in a bad area; the characters are good people with slightly warped ethics - warped only because they can't exist any other way. The mother is ill and can't work, so the son takes the homing pigeons she'd purchased for his mentally challenged younger sister and sells them on the street for food money...trusting the pigeons will return in a few days. He doesn't feel right doing this and neither does the mother. But needs must as the devil drives. The film winds up being a statement on naive social sympathies, and misunderstanding motivations. It also has those earmarks of "no one comes out happy in the end". The well-to-do girl who sympathizes with the boy has her innocent ideals dashed when she realizes he's pulling a con (albeit a very small con). The boy - because the deception is discovered - can get neither a good job, nor can he attend school as he has to take care of his mother. I believe the phrase "class alienation" is much-used in reviews. Yet it manages to maintain some hope at the end, regardless of the biting title. And as a side story adding despondent flavor, the mentally challenged sister likes to draw the dead animals she finds in their neighborhood. The drawings are memorable, and one in particular (of a contorted rat) seemed to draw a pitying gasp from the audience.

Gishiki aka The Ceremony, 1971

Right around here is when I seriously started having problems with Oshima. Not because I disliked it, per se, but because I couldn't possibly understand. Each review I've read refers to his disappointment with and criticism of post-war Japan - the Sakurada family being the representation. It was unfortunate that I watched the film solely at face value, but points to Oshima for making it work either way. Although it's a difficult trip without the uber-intellectual platform to stand on. This film takes a difficult family and places it in a new realm of epic insidiousness. All the philandering and warped youth, hopeless women, mental illness and violence...it happens regardless of war. WWII in this particular film is simply a catalyst for certain scenarios. It's a bitter view of familial relations (and of Japan, as it turns out). The grandfather's incessant adultery means he has children by nearly every woman attached to the family, so there are hints of incest as the children become attracted to each other. The film begins with a sour look at one of these relationships, and the rest of the film tracks this path loosely via flashbacks and vignettes. The end is not surprising; weakness and madness reign.

Three Resurrected Drunkards aka Kaette kita yopparai, 1968

Ok, I can't say enough about this film. I adored it from beginning to end. What this says about me, I'm not sure. Three students on a "last fling" from school visit the beach and have their clothes stolen, only to be replaced by Korean uniforms. Thus begins a whirlwind of misunderstandings and evasions. I was delighted to discover that the three charming young men in the film are the gents who perform the title music...three members of the Folk Crusaders, a Japanese psych-folk band. An interesting choice for Oshima, but brilliant. You care for them in that pat-pat-pat-let's-get-you-home-to-your-mum way. It is a quirky and humorous film. But still dark. They're mistaken for stowaway Koreans; the Koreans who stole their clothes need to kill the Japanese boys in their clothes to stop the ongoing search; the beautiful Korean girl who helps them has a boorish husband who whores her out to Korean stowaways. There's a fascinating documentarian scene where the boys walk down city streets asking people if they're Japanese and the bulk of answers are "No, I'm Korean". This movie was certainly taking a hard look at xenophobia, and has a hard end. There's also rampant references to Vietnam, and especially a focus on the South Vietnamese General Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong officer with a shot to the head which is an infamous and incriminating picture from Vietnam, although it has come to light the execution may have been warranted. I've read several variants of the story. At the time Three Resurrected Drunkards was made, that photo was the seminal representation of things gone wrong. This film could be considered an excellent example as well; even when the boys are given their second chance (a little tongue-in-cheek, that), nothing turns out right. I've included two separate YouTube clips below...I liked it that much. I gather from The Auteurs site that not everyone is as enthralled as I.

Nihon shunka-kô aka Sing A Song Of Sex, 1967

Personally, I felt this film should have been shown first (it was part of a double-feature with Three Resurrected Drunkards). On the other hand, many people may have left before Drunkards and that would have been a crying shame. Sing A Song Of Sex is not only looking at alienated youth and oppressed sexuality, but again is making a strong statement about Japanese xenophobia and the history of post-war Japan. The final scene was amazing, as old Japan tries to speak and reason with new Japan. However, it's a hard film. How many times have I said that in this entry? I should count. Out of the ten I saw, this was the most difficult. The film "begins" with a senseless act. There's no thought or remorse. A decision is made and you never know why. Someone dies. And the rest of the film stems from there. It is chock-full of unexplained acts. But in reality it isn't as though people turn to you and give graphic explanations or rationales for why they do something. And I found that refreshing, although the actions taken in the film could be quite repulsive (rapes aplenty in this one, even if some are imagined). The boys move from typical teenage responses to a more sociopathic level. Oshima overlaps several concerns, including the Japanese-Korean relationship, a critical look at Japan's youth, and the shallow nod given by many to protest and idealism....I found the protest-parody scene to be vicously accurate.

Gohatto aka Taboo

What a visually stunning film, and a piece of cruel period erotica not to be missed. It includes a breathtaking score by Ryuichi Sakamoto. And, if you read the article linked above, I have an argument to make. Upon first viewing, you say to yourself "Huh?" - this isn't the Oshima I've come to expect (the latter part of this day's double-feature, The Catch, would more than make up for that). However, I have two points to make. One: while it seems as though he is in fact creating a movie of the type he once despised, look at it through Oshima's allegorical lens: he has taken his infamous rape scenes and moved them one rung higher. I quibble a bit about a young man prettier than a girl (played by the surreal-looking Ryuhei Matsuda) gaining the vengeance that I would have liked to see the earlier of Oshima's female characters get, but that is neither here nor there. To refocus, Two: it aggravates me when people expect a director to langorously clutch the same ideals for four decades. That would bore either him or everyone else. People grow and change, thank god. Regardless of whether you feel this is worthy of being an "Oshima" (as he becomes his own definition), it is a striking and worthy piece. As is sadly typical, a few people walked out during the sex scene. Whether it was because it was sex, or because it was anal sex between two men...I try not to judge other than to ask how you could possibly leave such a beautiful film. I'm also trying to decide if Oshima was having a little fun at our expense, as his years have indeed been filled with revealing the skittering undersides of rocks. That he is giving homosexuality that same level of taboo, as it were...and pointing his finger at us to say, "You idiots."

Shiiku aka The Catch

Ah well, couldn't find a video for this either. A shame. This was the last Oshima film I watched; it was presented about ten minutes after Taboo, and I haven't heard a worse grinding of mental gears in a long time. You're swooning from the intoxicating beauty and violence of Taboo, and suddenly watching a black American GI with his leg still in a trap being marched to a tiny isolated Japanese village. I must admit that this film was an excellent choice as the last of the series. It sums up so many of the qualities I've come to look for in Oshima's earlier work. It reminds me of Elevator to the Gallows for some reason, perhaps in a "things can only get worse" way. You can tell immediately that nothing good is going to happen to that soldier, as all the villagers' personal faults, flaws and scandals are blamed on him. He is considered an ill omen, bad luck. This is a dark scrutiny of mob mentality and the ease of rationalizing violence (which, come to think of it, has been another running theme). Oshima does not dwell on certain subjects as you'd expect in contemporary cinema - there's no long running shot of the soldier's festering leg, no weepy lingering hold on the still form of the child at the bottom of the cliff. I think more than anything, the director reviles sentimentality and wants no part of it. But he's a HUGE fan of manipulation.

Nagisa Oshima's 100 Years of Japanese Cinema

Technically, I'm breaking my own rule here and placing this outside of my personal chronology. I saw this before Taboo. However, it seems a fine way to wrap up this entry. Regarding 100 Years of Japanese Cinema, here is a good article (one in a series of four) entitled, "His Will On Film" written by Rob Nelson. Regardless of Oshima's take on the history of Japanese film, I would like to see every example in his documentary. And, in fact, found a site that has a complete or near-complete listing. During the film, he says quite clearly that Japan has been too dependent upon Japan, and that once they break free of those conventions, Japanese cinema will be allowed to evolve. And here's the point where I can relate this film back to comments made about Taboo. It was certainly this sort of statement which made people arch an eyebrow at samurai and cherry blossoms. There was a small uncomfortable laugh that ran through the audience when he states how he dislikes being associated with La Nouvelle Vague. More interesting still that LACMA has decided to pointedly have a celebration of Nouvelle Vague directors once the Oshima retro is completed. Clever on the part of the museum's film program coordinator, and hopefully it will create an intelligent and curious contrast.

“My hatred for Japanese cinema includes absolutely all of it."

It may be small but I know how to use it.

2009-05-17T18:50:00.000-07:00

I have a scanner with a very small bed. I've been unpacking books. While staring at mounds of cloth-bound this 'n that - my collection - the two separate subjects finally clicked.

So today, my tiny scanner presents to you an Old Chestnut. One of my earliest acquisitions and still one of my favorites. The book itself is interesting enough: the large 1894 published guide for New York at the World's Columbia Exposition (1893). Many fascinating presentations (I'm particularly fond of the epic-scaled obsessiveness with which the canned fruit was arranged, towering in a heap). Walls of wool, botanical gardens, inventions, an Iroquois longhouse and a woolly mammoth...but what caught my eye, in truth, was the following.

REPORT ON THE CHARITIES AND CORRECTIONS EXHIBIT: EXHIBIT CLASSED IN LIBERAL ARTS DEPARTMENT, BUT INSTALLED IN THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL BUILDING

A special effort was made by the exposition authorities to secure from all the States exhibits of the methods employed in their charitable, penal, correctional and reformatory institutions, and a special bureau was formed for that purpose in the liberal arts department. New York's board heartily supported the idea and obtained the co-operation of the State Board of Charities. The latter, under the personal supervision of their secretary, Dr. Charles S. Hoyt, prepared a systematic statement of the laws and conditions governing the work in New York, and tabulated charts of results obtained and developments noted, supplemented by models of the best institutions in the State. The Board of General Managers on their part defrayed all expenses connected with the exhibit. As a tangible and graphic representation of the results of many years of liberal expenditure of public money and of the labors of earnest, able and devoted men and women, it possessed a special interest for our own citizens and gave to visitors from other States and countries an impressive conception of the charitable munificence of New York. It is much to be regretted that the installation of the exhibit from New York was so poorly arranged by the exposition director in charge. Scattered about the Anthropological Building in several different places, in accordance with the exposition idea of a comparative exhibit by States and countries of similar subjects, the display lost a great deal of its impressiveness. The paucity of material rendered the "comparative" display in this department a total failure from a scientific standpoint, and the State displays suffered correspondingly in effect because of this fractional arrangement. Much of the confusion was probably due to the indifferent attitude of the exposition officials toward the liberal arts department in the construction period of the fair, and the very late date and consequent hurry in which the Anthropological Building was completed and the exhibits installed.

Among the most noteworthy exhibits from New York in this department were the Rochester Industrial School, containing a full representation of the studies pursued and work done in the institution; the model of the Elmira Reformatory; model of the Utica insane asylum; model of the Letchworth Poorhouse, and splendid series of forty-two statistical charts tabulating volumes of information.

The Letchworth Poorhouse especially attracted wide attention. It was designed by the Hon. Wm. P. Letchworth, of Buffalo, who has been for many years a member of the State Board of Charities, and has made poorhouse architecture a study for twenty years. The objects attained in the model are perfect sanitation, convenience and economy in administration, protection against fire, and a proper classification of the inmates according to their peculiar physical and mental condition, and a complete separation of the sexes. The model on exhibition provided for the accomodation of eighty persons. It is a matter of congratulation that the State was enabled to show a building which virtually represented the experience of the world, and will prove a model for similar instituions in this and other countries.

The following extract from the current annual report of the State Board of Charities will summarize the scope and character of the exhibit:

NEW YORK STATE CHARITABLE EXHIBIT AT THE WORLD'S COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION

"At the request of the Managers of the State of New York at the World's Columbian Exposition, held in Chicago in 1893, this board prepared exhibits of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory work of the State, which were forwarded to Chicago early in the year, and assigned space in connection with similar exhibits from other States and countries at the exposition. These exhibits, in accordance with instructions issued by the bureau of charities and correction, approved by the director general of the exposition, then in course of preparation and referred to in the last annual report of the board, were as follows:

"1. A map of the State, designating in block characters the location of all its penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions.

"2. A directory of the penal, charitable, eleemosynary, correctional and reformatory institutions of this State, showing the object and the purposes of such instututions and their classification by county.

"3. A set of statistical charts, forty-two in number, relating to crime, pauperism, insanity, immigration, etc., with the annual expenditures therefor, and the value of the property of all kinds in the State, held for penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory purposes, October 1, 1892.

"4. A complete set of the annual and special reports of this board, with copies of circulars, blanks, forms, tables, etc., issued from time to time in the prosecution of its work.

"5. Photographic books or albums of various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State, with the history, objects and purposes, government and management, receipts and expenditures, and the number of beneficiaries of such institutions, prepared, at the request of the board, by their respective managers.

"6. A model of an approved plan for poorhouses, which special reference to separation of the sexes and classification of inmates, heating, lighting, ventilation and drainage, projected and designed by Commissioner Letchworth and constructed under his supervision and direction.

"In addition to these exhibits by this board, other exhibits were prepared by various charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions of the State and sent directly to the exposition, among which were the following: A model of the reformatory at Elmira; a model of a detached hospital building of the Utica State Hospital; a model of the hospital building of the State Custodial Asylum for Feeble-Minded Young Women at Newark, with numerous photographic views of the institution; a large collection of technological work, by the State Industrial School at Rochester; and photographic views of the buildings, plans, etc., of the Buffalo State Hospital at Buffalo, and the St. Lawrence State Hospital at Ogdensburg. The institutions for feeble-minded children, for the blind and the deaf, made their exhibits through their respective national associations for these classes; and, besides those above enumerated, numerous other charitable, correctional and reformatory institutions, societies and associations of the State prepared and forwarded exhibits, through various channels, and were given space at the exposition under the classification to which they respectively belonged.

" It will thus be seen that this State contributed largely to the penal, charitable, correctional and reformatory exhibit at this exposition, and it is believed that its display in this direction, both in the extent and variety of its subjects and the comprehensive and artistic manner in which they were presented, compared favorably with such exhibits by other States and countries, reflecting credit alike upon the State and its institutions. In an address upon the grounds of the exposition upon the occasion of 'New York Day,' his excellency, Governor Flower, referring to the various classes of exhibits by this State, spoke of its charitable exhibits as follows:

" 'The great work which New York State and its civil subdivisions do for the relief of pauperism, for the care of the insane and the education of the defective classes, has been demonstrated at this exposition as it has never been before. The whole range of activity of the charitable, orrectional and reformatory institutions of the State has been shown in a way which makes the subject clearer than volumes of reports would do. It is the boast of our christian civilization that it cares for those whom pagan civilization neglected. The private and public beneficence of New York transcends all limitations of sect or creed, and its graphic delineation here may well challenge the attention of the world.'

"These and other exhibits, the property of the State, have been returned to Albany, and are waiting legislative action for their proper care and proposed permanent exposition."

Me again. Being a native New Yorker, I find the above fascinating as I'm familiar with the institutions mentioned...at least some of them. My mind boggles a bit at phrases like the above comment on christianity and paganism. Now this may seem unfair, but of all the varied things they could present in full-page illustrative glory, they chose the "Kemmler" chair.

On the preceding page it states: "Kemmler" chair; first chair and apparatus used in the world to inflict the death penalty by electricity; first used at Auburn prison August 6, 1890, for the execution of Kemmler.

I mentioned this was an old chestnut, because there are a few potential readers out there who will recognize my incessant obsession with this device. I wish I could explain it; it is an interwovern guilt and shame, and a bamboozled perplexity regarding the decorative punched metal (tin?) seat. I wonder who made that seat. I wonder if Kemmler noticed it. Things like this bother me.

The extremely grim details of the execution can be found here: William Kemmler

Lucky you, more to come! Many books to pry open, many inscrutable and obtuse thoughts to delve.

"They would have done better using an axe."

Disquieting pals.

2009-05-10T01:24:00.000-07:00

Time before last that I was in the Painted desert in Arizona, I made a friend.

It was freezing cold that day...it had snowed during the night, and I was glum. Had so looked forward to the day and the sky was slate, the ground white, the air bitter. There was a diner down the road, and I decided to go get some breakfast (sure to upset my stomach), drink some coffee and wait it out. Lucky me: turned into one of the most gorgeous days I've experienced. The sky lit up like a god was playing with planet-sized flashlights back there behind the clouds...to prove this, divine rays seemed to emanate from the storm front. The temperature was as bitter as ever, and would stay that way throughout, but it lended a crystalline and clear element to the day. It maintained scrims of ice on the water, and patches of snow here and there. When I returned to the hotel that night, I'd notice my hands were frost-burned.

The drive through the Painted Desert is always amazing. There's a particular entrance you want to begin with (I want to say the Southern one), as there's a rise it's important you go over one way and not the other...the one direction provides an eye-widening vista. The other, you start within the vista, and there's no moment of epiphany. But I can't remember which, damn it. Logic decrees it was the Southern entrance, as I wanted to head out on the 40 afterward via the Northern exit.

As for my friend, he joined me about halfway in. The cold had kept all but the most cussed inside. It was just me, a few darling European boys (never quite divined the accents) and an elderly couple in the park, as far as I could tell. Amazing to have the view all to myself, or close enough as to not matter. The wind was so harsh, it pulled my hands. Many of my photos from this trip are askew; there wasn't any way to keep the camera level. At one point I took note of two hook-beaked hoary ravens cuddling up on a fence. They were amazing! And huge. They let me get abnormally close for a shot - I'm sure this is because of hundreds of tourists tossing crumbs each day. I was glad for the luck to see them and drove on.

A few miles down the road, I decided it was time for a snack. The day was wearing on me; it was hard to hike about in the chill and wind. I'd purchased something awful from the entrance store, Fritos or the like....but also still had a few biscuits left over from breakfast (I'd had them wrapped thinking I might need the carbs). I opened my door to swing my feet out and let crumbs fall where they might, when a dark form fluttered down next to me. A very large raven, as big if not bigger than the other two, sat there and peered at me. Or more specifically, at my biscuit. So I tossed him a quarter slice. He seemed to appreciate this, as he followed me from stop to stop for the next few miles. As I drove, he'd fly next to my window, and when I stopped, he'd land, looking for more biscuit.

Keep in mind it was me, the raven and nothing else. Just the howling wind and cliffs. I started to get a little spooked while at the same time charmed. I talked with him, egging him on, seeing if he'd continue to follow me (we pulled the whole "drive and fly" about five times). I'd throw some more biscuit occasionally. I chatted with him, laughing and asking about Coyote (I'd been reading trickster myths), asking what Odin was up to these days...and thinking to myself that he wouldn't mind one bit if I went careening off a cliff, giving him something a bit more toothsome than a biscuit to sink his beak into. Wasn't suffering from any illusions regarding his presence. He was hungry and I had food. Or could be food. I can't say I was unhappy when we finally parted ways. There's something amazing and beautiful about having all that space to yourself, but - much like when I lived in the Adirondacks - you always have that reality check in your head, the one that notes how easy it would be to become a smear on the side of the road, a lump at the bottom of a cliff...The Girl Who Was Bitten By A Rattlesnake In The Middle Of Nowhere...etc. A healthy dose of respect for Nature is required. And I nodded to the raven as he flew off.

Summer pastiche.

2009-05-09T18:57:00.000-07:00

This past summer was possibly the worst I've experienced, and the best. It began with poor choices and ended with several choices whose effects have yet to be weighed. I was still traveling for work, staying in hotels predominantly. I'd left my roomie/friend of nearly 10 years to fend for himself, and had decided against getting another place. Problem being: there was a lull in between projects. Things became awkward. Luckily another friend had a house in the desert; he was rarely there and appreciated the house sitting. And so the summer began. I'd just come off a lovely run of desert trips, and had been working in Albuquerque for 4 months, driving back and forth between California and New Mexico. The first thing I did once back was go with my former roomie to Monterrey, driving up the 1 and seeing Big Sur along the way. Symbolically, this ended the project and began a time of depression and restlessness.

Depression and restlessness. It's a fine description. I was either frantically exercising (for two, sometimes three hours a day) or asleep on the couch. A bad sleep, a dull sleep, where you woke and your head hurt. I lived for e-mails and phone calls. The drive into LA ran 2-3 hours as well, and was hard...didn't want to drive all that to see friends and drive back home the same night. Hard. There were a few nights where I nearly went off the road for need of sleep and had to stop. Dangerous.

One night, mind numbed by this and that, I was driving back from the Starbucks via the main drag - everyone drove 40mph, despite the 30mph speed limit; an unwritten law. This time, someone walked into traffic (were they drunk?), and the car next to me going in the opposite direction ran them down, dead. The body flipped over the top of the SUV. It happened right next to my window, like a bad TV show. Shock, panic...stopped the car. By then a crowd had already surrounded the body, and I decided to go home. Numb. What could I tell the police that they weren't going to hear 500 times from other people? When I got home, called friend. Cried. Couldn't sleep. Eyes wide. Drank lots of water, upon advice of said friend. Heat oppressive. Air conditioning the same. I looked the next day but there was no news...I thought about going to the police station, but didn't.

The kitty next door was named Brewskie. A terrible name for a cat, but he was loved and seemed to think it was OK. He was grey and skinny, a good cat. Hiding in the desert plants, coming out for kibble...occasionally freaking me out by playing with black widows. He would follow me to the pool at night. I would always head out at dusk to swim for hours. A lovely older German woman would be swimming each night as well, and compliment me on my energy to which I had nothing to say. It's hard to explain that this time last year you were much heavier, slower, and still think of yourself that way. I became friends with her over time - she made some lovely artwork and had traveled everywhere. Her advice to me was to keep traveling and experience the world. She said with my smile I could get away with just about anything. Brewskie would sit by the pool and watch the laps for a while before he became bored and wandered off. But he'd always be there to greet me as I got back.

An amazing number of insects would gather at the pool. No WAY could you walk in bare feet out there. They were calling it the "Year of the Widow", black widows ran rampant everywhere. Huge; blood clot colored. They would hang upside down from their schizophrenic webs daring you to come closer. They crawled in the dirt at night, along with centipedes, solpugids, scorpions...a few solpugids got in the house and fucking terrified me. I'm an arachnid lover. I have voluntarily had many tarantulas in my home. But these are too alien. And fast. And strong! I couldn't comprehend them, and did little dances of fear when releasing them outside. One night I thought that I'd released one ON me, and adrenaline was pumping as I swirled around trying to find it. Haven't been that scared of anything in a while. Big lazy cockroaches, crickets and cicadas would find their way to the pool. One week, a wind storm blew in at 85-90mph....the next day the pool was filled with detritus. And with a bunch of mimic moths that looked like hornets. I forget what they're called. Was sorry to see them all floating there. But then cleaned the pool. Made a game of it for the day, diving for sticks and pine needles and shingles.

There was a gent who lived down the street, a Vietnam vet. He would come by the pool and chit-chat, and I think he was flirting in his own way. Very blunt discussions about functionality of equipment and the like. He liked to talk about his musicianship and also his guns. He made some comments about the war that I found abhorrent even after reading nearly everything abhorrent there was to read about it, seeing more than I needed to and knowing other vets. The day after the wind storm he came down and wondered what I was doing in the pool. I wondered too, even then. But the answer comes quickly enough. Cleaning the pool by hand kept me busy and preoccupied, thus keeping me from woolgathering and sitting in the house.

I would go to Palm Springs on occasion. It was sweltering, and had the delightful side attribute of being hellishly humid as well. Two minutes there and your shirt was stuck to you. Palm Springs seemed to mainly be inhabited by people with too much money and their spoiled idle children; a California tradition (I recently visited another town like this, north of San Diego). Lots of shops filled with expensive bric-a-brac. Little expensive cafes. A lot of Europeans in the area, so that helped a bit.

One day, sitting in the fly-filled Starbucks, an Italian man tried to become my sugar daddy. May I mention I don't look the part. He offered me money, wanted to take me out gambling, and get some food...the invoice was never mentioned. He started to say I should get a nice dress that showed my legs, a manicure...and so it began before it began. I went to lunch with him for amusement's sake (calling a friend first to let them know what I was doing and where I was going). At lunch he attempted to pay for a $20 meal with a hundred. He pulled about three grand out of his pocket, and I asked him if he was really that stupid. And such was the end of that short-lived friendship. I blocked his calls.

I liked to go to Trader Joe's and get their ginger soda - isn't it the best? Chill it and drink during the hot days while ripping LPs and EPs from my friends' collections. I'd purchased a USB turntable and was figuring out the Audigy program, soda sitting next to me, albums very carefully placed on other side away from potential mishap. Occasionally a random insect would make its way into the house...crickets mainly, with eardrum-shattering chirps made all the more loud by the immense silence of the desert. They'd hide in nooks and crannies that acted as megaphones; some nights I couldn't scare them out. At this point the insomnia started. My sleep, if I got any, became erratic. Up all night, sleep in the morning, exercise/swim, sleep again, go out at night for groceries, and then stare at the walls.

I became edgy and needed to get out more and more; traveled to Joshua Tree a few times, going in the pitch blackness of night, knowing I was asking for trouble but not getting it. I planned a trip to Arizona and New Mexico again, and had great fun. Although as the summer wore on, the need to have someone with me on these trips took away from the joy. At least a little. I'd dated someone very unsuitable the year before, and then fell for a line in the spring. I'd been involved with someone else, but they had too much fun disappearing and reappearing and it was becoming too painful to put up with. I was meeting other people who were real and liked me and confusion was running rampant. I would sit out on the cliffs at Malpais and wonder about my life and where it was heading...who might be in it and when. But luckily, many of the places I visit are so mind-blowingly gorgeous, this bullshit didn't take up all my time.

The summer wore on. I was slimmer and tanned, muscled...I'd gotten my hair chopped and was quite pleased. Was becoming a very confident traveler. Listened to new music every day and enjoying a delightful ongoing conversation and project with a friend overseas. On the other hand, I couldn't sleep. I would linger for hours not doing anything, no motivation to do more than stare at the floor, the sink, the tub. Started taking a lot of baths. I hadn't resolved the other relationship, which was tearing me up. I'd do the backstroke in the pool staring at the stars and wonder what had happened, where exactly I had misstepped and driven him off. This alternated with new love interests and friends, and wondering about them. Or just thinking about travel and where I might like to go. Those were good nights, when I imagined this grassy plain or that island. Around 11pm, I would stop my swim, pet Brewskie and head inside...maybe write an e-mail or find more music. No word yet from work about the next project.

Shazbott Kat died sometime during the summer. I'd felt great guilt about farming my cats out to friends, originally believing I was good for the responsibility of a cat's life. She died in Yucaipa, with loving friends....found her under a bush with her mouth full of dirt. She reeked of rosemary. Was she eating it? What happened? Will never know. But that was a long drive, and even longer coming back, everything smelling of rosemary. She had fans around the world and was missed. When I arrived at the veterinarian's, I pretended I wasn't upset for the benefit of the other patrons. No need to upset anyone. Was difficult under this pretext to get the assistant to understand what I needed. Would have been comical if circumstances were different.

I went out and watched the Perseid meteor shower in early August, which was one of the best moments of my life. I tried to call a friend, but they were away. Hard to share something like that over the phone anyway. So I hung up the cell and stared at all the flashes and blurs above me. I plan on going again this year, hopefully with a telescope. Joshua Tree was more than adequate stomping grounds for amateur astronomers. Was there for hours until my eyes started to hurt from the strain...and stayed a bit past that.

A few weeks before the LA project (had finally gotten word) I was driving back from LA to the desert. People drive very fast out there and so do I. This night, on a stretch of nothing leading nowhere, someone in a black car doing about 90mph didn't see me in their rear view mirror and was going to hit me. So instead, I hit the guardrail. I never got their license plate, and they never stopped. I was lucky - so lucky - for being unhurt. I laughed when I realized my laptop was really in my lap, that everything in the car had flown forward in a blur during the collision. The car still drove, although I wondered if I should move it. But was so tired, and so done in by the summer, I just wanted to get home. Drove back. My door wouldn't open. Whole left side smashed in. I called the insurance company. Looked at my car, and wept a bit. This being the final memorable event before leaving.

The summer was hot, depressing, meandering, sleepless. It introduced me to many new people, a few who've become some of the more important people in my life. It signaled the end of a love affair that shouldn't have happened. It flickered the potential for other affairs. I walked away stronger, healthier..perhaps not happier, but not unhappy either. There were many extremes on both sides. The recession means that half the houses there are for sale or abandoned now. The artist who's work hung next to mine in the desert house died of an OD while I was in London. My former lover wants no part of me. Brewskie cat was found dead the other day. Poison, they think. There are beginnings and ends.

You would think this was all bad, but I'm realizing that it's an ongoing play. At this point I neither applaud nor boo, I simply wait for the next act.

Swine flu boogaloo and the H1N1 shuffle.

2009-05-01T13:47:00.000-07:00

So...I can’t believe we actually know who Patient Zero is. I almost could say I’m not beyond the here-and-now and not overly worried (yet a little caution is always wise) about H1N1, but this has presented itself as a fucking fabulous example of how quickly information can travel. Especially considering the fact I can track the exact numbers of people with confirmed cases of swine flu all over the damned world, and that we know who little Edgar is (the youngling listed as the possible source of this strain). Regardless of the issues inherent in statistics - and especially in the focus on one terribly neotonous child - it’s mind-boggling to me. There’s been much noise about how the internet has made this scenario more than it is; that “back in the day” (LOVE that phrase) we wouldn’t have cared as we wouldn’t have known. "Back in the day" we may not have even known that influenza existed. It is a reasonably recent discovery. This hearkens back to what is becoming the apocryphal 1918 Spanish flu comparison, when they really had no fucking clue what was happening and were racing against time (and a phenomenal number of deaths amongst healthcare workers/researchers) to discover a vaccine...once they even figured out that was an option. My point being: how amazing that we can track disease so thoroughly as to seemingly annihilate it before it gets a foothold. “Seemingly” being used because that isn’t how the flu works. But hey, maybe it isn’t highly contagious, maybe it won’t jump and maybe we won’t all be unhappy for one-three random miserable weeks sometime this year.

San Diego.

2009-03-27T10:56:00.001-07:00

I need a pen name.

But aside from that, am going to San Diego this weekend. I've only been once before, at a time when my car wasn't sure it could make it...and neither was my wallet. This will be a slightly different experience. Have used some of my very exciting (to me) Holiday Inn points to stay in an Express called Cardiff By The Sea, about 25 miles outside the city. Essentially a free weekend getaway. And why? Because I need sleep. And quiet. And neotony.

San Diego Zoo should be filled to the brim with baby animals by now. Spring and the mating instinct walking hand-in-hand, there's sure to be some frisky business still going on in the pens. I never quite know how to feel in a zoo. Guilt is a predominant friend for the day. However, the koalas and baby gazelles call, and I must obey.

Hm-mmm....had never bothered to look before, but Lonely Planet has a lovely website. After a discussion with good friends over huge dinners last night, I feel a need to go to Mexico. Bad timing I guess, with all the cartel action and exciting murders. Although after reading a decent article at bajainsider.com regarding the recent traveler's warning, it doesn't seem as daunting (and according to the stats, New Orleans suffers three times the murder rate of Tijuana, ha). I'm not Tijuana-bound....that would be awful. I'm interested in Guanajuato, which is supposed to be a gorgeous city. The only thing I might pass on (yeah, right) is the mummies museum. Will give more information as plans develop.

Oh my god! Butterfly jungle at San Diego Zoo! April 4-26. Guess I'll have to drive back down next weekend ^^ This - THIS - is what I get for not doing my homework before I make hotel reservations. Oh, butterfly keeper, you are envied (watching video).......

New Orleans.

2009-03-21T18:36:00.000-07:00

"I can barely conceive of a type of beauty in which there is no Melancholy."

Figured I'd start right off with a pompous quote from Baudelaire. But it's true. Especially if I focus the phrase on New Orleans.

I've experienced two prior visits, and both times walked away smitten...not of Bourbon and the like (terrible vomit-ridden area), but the city and outlying districts as a whole. The first trip occurred before Katrina, the second after. But the timing on the second trip was such that, while most of the obvious damage had been cleared away, the long-term effects of rot and mold had yet to be seen. Not so this time.

During careful consideration while trying to find a place to settle (or, more realistically described, a place to retreat to occasionally), I decided to travel down South again and take a more clinical look at the area and the culture. Walked away thinking I probably couldn't live with myself if I stayed there for too long. Ever-running fountains of racism and sexism aside, there is the grimy slime-covered notion of taking advantage of an impacted area. Not only by Katrina, but the area itself is driving away professionals and college-bound youth. So there are jobs available, and apartments aplenty. All you have to do is not care that you're joining a rapidly dwindling community. A singer I met while down there said, "No one's considered a tourist, just a future resident"....but I wonder if that's as true as it once was.

Don't get me wrong - the city is gorgeous, and still appears to be a favorite amongst European travelers (fancy I heard more English accents than US down there). The food is excellent, the drink as well...the architecture could keep me there for some time. The arts appear to flourish. As I've mentioned before in other blogs and such, the subculture is fascinating and beautiful. Where else do you find scrappy little leather-clad teens in techie pirate mode? One young couple particularly caught my eye the first time I was there....parking their rough bikes, her with her breasts bobbing and obvious through the sheer white blouse she had on, the no-bath-today boy following behind, no cares that anyone was around, kissing in the street. Wonderful. Made one want to move there. Between the romance (and slight tinge of danger and horror that always seems to lurk there - romance of another sort) and the divine coffee, I felt I could easily stay there for a goodly time.

This trip, the romance was a bit lost. The buildings have suffered terribly. Many neighborhoods look like someplace I wouldn't drive through in LA, despite my friend assuring me they were very nice. Rot has created gapped teeth in the abandoned buildings, squatters have provided interesting and beautiful graffiti and not-so-beautiful trash, and the mold grows everywhere. Great portions of the city look like you could blow on them and they'd fall over. Doors have been jimmied, hanging slightly open in an ominous greeting. Spray-painted windows broken. Combine this with the usual torrid stew from the tourists and it became a little overwhelming.

I stayed with a good, if slightly overprotective, friend while there. He lives on (in?) the Westbank. Apparently a little low on the New Orleans district hierarchy. He's renting one half of a double shotgun attached by an archway. This type of home is very common to the area and is one that I was considering - would have to consider, really. I aim for an apartment in the Garden District and did manage to find one listed that had two balconies and many windows....total "girl" apartment, and I loved it. Could see myself whiling away many a rainy afternoon with a snifter of brandy and book by the open window. Maybe start painting again. It's that sort of place.

Speaking of spirits, I manged to have some absinthe this time. Also watched how it was prepared. It includes the following steps:
1) place a slotted tray over the absinthe glass. Place two sugar cubes on the tray.2) pour a shot of absinthe over the cubes.
3) Sets the sugar cubes ablaze.
4) once they burn out, pour cold water over them until they dissolve.
Very strong taste of anise in any absinthe, but I gather that, dependant on the maker, the spirit itself can have many different herbal hints. Am very excited to try some different varieties ^^ Mine had the absolute bare minimum of wormwood in it (if indeed any at all); no green fairies for me. I also smoked for the first time since I was twelve, with similar results. It was a clove cigarette (or kretek); I wasnt inhaling, and yet managed to inhale anyway while laughing...much coughing and a sore throat ensued. The rest of the pack still sits in my purse, a week later.

Supposing I should wrap this up for now....but as a grand finale, here is a slideshow of some photos taken mainly in the rain (as that's all it seemed to do):

Vintage.

2009-02-28T00:46:00.000-08:00

I procrastinated about asking someone to my prom, and now it seems that everyone has dates already.

Did find a great dress though:

Ye olde music newes.

2009-02-22T22:17:00.000-08:00

I feel like chatting music, and starting in a strange place.

Downloaded some eps from the Blast First site; two tributes to Alan Vega. And one includes a track by the Horrors. Not too shabby, also quite different from what I expected.

About the Horrors. Have been thinking abut bands cutting their own balls off and the Horrors always spring to mind. A friend posted the “Sheena Is A Parasite” vid back in 2006, and was the first I’d heard of them. The video sold me. I purchased the ep. The insane garage sound sold me even more. I started recommending them to old-timey punk friends, thinking they’d adore the meaningless sound of it all (I passed around the Hives in much the same spirit). Who cares about the lyrics? Listen to that! Like the Detroit Cobras, makes you shake that ass!

What I didn’t take into account was that the Horrors would fundamentally change their ep songs for the full-length release. Part of me said, “Oooo, how clever, giving the audience something different and more bang for their buck.” The other part of me was terribly disappointed. I’m curious to find out why they changed the songs, but not losing sleep over it. And haven’t bothered to look up any interviews. I don’t care that much. What I do know is that the ep is a little garage gem; I don't give a toss about the lp.

Was also fascinated with video director's Chris Cunningham’s response, who stated he liked the futuristic sound. Interesting. I must admit the Sheena video became an instant favorite...and how simple is it? Very. God only knows if it got any play on MTV and the like (again, don’t care), so maybe people are so burned out on it they can’t bear the idea of watching it again. But I’m going to embed it here anyway.

The horrors - Sheena is a Parasite
Uploaded by ----Gregoire----

Just discovered it was banned back in the day. Really??? People have too much f***ing time on their hands if they're offended by that.

I’ve recently seen a boxed set featuring Spike Jonze‘s, Chris Cunningham’s and Michel Gondry’s video oeuvres and am considering it. May pick it up in just a bit actually. I know exactly where it is, and there is an invisible string leading me toward it ;) Sheena t'aint on it though.

Speaking of videos, I gather there is a rather embarrassing video out on YouTube involving the Horrors and a venue they shouldn’t have chosen. Reminding us all that in this new world, it takes about 2 minutes for your puddle of flop sweat to be seen by the masses.

...........

And as a final aside, just discovered that I could upgrade my iTunes purchases to remove the protections…..at a cost though. Irritating. At 30 cents per song, I could now provide you with the ep….which is exactly why the protections were there in the first place. It would cost me over $50 to convert everything - won’t be doing it - but still, think I got off easy.

The iTunes update from Jan. 7th (I’m always behind the news)

Cock-rockers and kookaburras: an animation EXPLOSION!

2009-02-05T23:46:00.000-08:00

I've wanted to write a post about some favorite films from my wasted youth and now seems as good a time as any. Taking a wee break from the London trip, but will get back to it over the weekend.

My parents were (and are) quite intelligent and maybe a little too open about things. They were interested in my brothers and I having our own experiences, and were fine with parties and staying out, as long as I was safe and called them to let them know where I was. They didn't fret about boys I brought home (not openly anyway). And at one point I seem to remember my mother encouraging me to try LSD "at least once, it's like a conversation with God". I mention all this because they were also pretty laid back about what we watched. It was pretty varied, but there was a love of goofy cult film in our household, including things like Crimewave (the first Coen Bros. sally) and The Forbidden Zone, written and directed by Richard Elfman and starring his younger brother as Satan. I recently tried to get some friends to watch Crimewave, thinking it would be great fun...but, well...I may be its only fan ;) Much like some of the movies I'm about to bring up below!

Favorite films of youth include but are certainly not limited to, the following...and I think I can come up with reasons to watch all of them. My reasons, anyway.

Dot and the Kangaroo: this film came out in 1977, and I was watching it soon after...probably up through my teen years, as it became a rather staple-ish thing on HBO. I can still sing the utterly frantic "Clickety-click" song...and I'm sure if you caught my brother after a few glasses of wine, he could (and would) as well. It's based on a book from 1899, which is news to me (read the wiki last night). The book looks charming. The movie is probably less so...but I've pulled two clips from YouTube: the Bunyip and Clickety-Click songs. The creator of the latter clip points out that the manically cheery song is placed right after the parents have finally allowed that Dot might be dead. Must say I didn't notice that as a kid. Nor as a teen. But then, as a teen things like this start to morph into something else, something with which to annoy others. Which will lead me to the next film in just a moment.

Here is the Bunyip song (written by John Palmer and performed by Maurie Wilmore):

Clickety-clickety-clickety click!!!!! (with spoiler alert, and this song also written by John Palmer and performed by Maurie Wilmore)

Unico has to be the most obnoxious thing I have EVER seen. I love it. I forced many friends in college to watch it, which resulted in people imitating the high-pitched whiny American voices for days (I gather only the dubbed versions are quite this terrifying). Both "The Fantastic Adventures of Unico", 1981, and "Unico in the Island of Magic", 1983, are to be re-released on dvd. Beware! Early Sanrio at its most terrifying. These films include very odd and disturbing elements, which may be why they continue to float around in my head rather than being swept away with the other dustbunnies. Cribbed from wikipedia: "In this film, Unico meets a kind-hearted young girl named Cheri (also spelled "Cherry", voiced by Sumi Shimamoto). Cheri's older brother, Toby (in Japanese, "Torubi", voiced by Shuichi Ikeda), is working for the evil Lord Kuruku (in Japanese, "Kukuruku"), who plans to turn all living creatures, animals and people alike, into zombie-like beings called "Living Puppets" to be his slaves; Toby's job is to change people into Living Puppets and then lure the Living Puppets to Kuruku's island castle. Toby also takes on Melvin the Magnificat ("Yamaneko" in Japanese) - who hates Unico because Unico "intruded" in "his" forest (the forest in which the West Wind left Unico) - as his assistant. After Cheri's parents and neighbors all get turned into Living Puppets, she and Unico team up to stop Kuruku." See? Scary!!

Below is a (link to) clip from Fantastic Adventures (I love this song):
its Chao's cat song, which is why I sing this song of mow-meow-meow. For some reason the YouTube member has disabled embedding (frown).

And here is a clip from The Island of Magic. Unico meets Toby the devil. You don't need to watch more than maybe, oh, up through the demon statue being destroyed to get a very clear idea of the rest of the film.

Animalympics: this film really caught the spirit of things, Lake Placid Olympics and all that. It is spot-on. Was created in 1978-79, and features several full-length musical segments by 10cc's Graham Gouldman (I've included several below). The film stars many great voice talents, including Gilda Radner, Billy Crystal and Harry Shearer. And may I add that Lisberger Studios had the coolest logo ever. It does not surprise me one tiny bit that he and his crew went on to create Tron. Nor that this film is played at sci fi cons.

I never stopped enjoying this, and don't know if it has to do with memories of the time (we were lurking about Lake Placid constantly at that point and I had a crush on a blond boy named Tad) or maybe my friend's memories, as he's from Placid. We once in a while sit down and watch it...has become a bit comfort food-ish.

The Noah's Ark "Go For It" scene (which is mildly brilliant for showing all the bored patrons):

"WE Made It To the Top" (I always over-empathize with that tiger):

And, finally, "Love's Not For Me" - which, oddly, is actually a very pretty song.

And now, Rock & Rule,. I heart this film. A campy friend of mine has the sound mind to love it as well, and we were both a little overly excited about the release on dvd. I don't know how many times I saw this as a kid, but of the four films presented here, might be the one deemed least "appropriate" for a kid. I adored it, but then again, I was 13. And since I started reading my parents' collection of Heavy Metals by age 9 and had already been introduced to drug culture, this suited me fine. It had great music (Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, Deborah Harry and Cheap Trick) and the animation, in my opinion, is outstanding. And some of the best secondary characters in film. Cindy Zip is my hero.

Here's Cindy at the club, getting down to "Hot Dogs and Sushi" by Melleny Brown, preceded by Earth, Wind and Fire's "Dance Dance Dance":

Here's Omar's rendition of "Born to Raise Hell" (Cheap Trick):

And, on an end note, the gloriously self-involved dragged out cock-rocker Mok (musically played by Lou Reed and Iggy, natch):

Enjoy!

The British Museum, 10.04.2008.

2009-02-01T21:53:00.000-08:00

Segment II, Day II: the British Museum. I was quite methodical about my time in London...I won't really go through it day by day, hour by hour, but I tried to do one major event each day. The rest of the day was spent noodling in Starbucks, wandering the streets, hitting various pubs with a friend....or being sick in the hotel (I caught a cold 7 days in).

A little background story to my British Museum trip: it was cold and rainy that day. Not unusual for London by any means, but unusual for this trip. As mentioned before, I was getting used to the sun. Rain doesn't suit me. Living in Los Angeles for 11 years will do funny things to a person, like make them forget that socks exist, forget that hair products don't hold up in mist, and forget that high heeled boots are a BAD idea when considering inclement weather. I looked at a map and it seemed close enough to the Tottenham Court Rd. station, so I thought, "Well, why not...I feel all skirty and boots-ish today." Not counting on getting terribly, terribly lost. After my pride was wounded enough, I stopped at a vendor and purchased the map I'm referring to right now to write this entry. My mistake was thinking I could spot the museum from a distance, despite not having any idea what it looked like in the first place. Silly. I would have crossed paths with Bugs and ended up at Pismo Beach at the rate I was messing up. The map vendor pointed me in the right direction. Unfortunately, by this point my boots had eaten away at my ankles enough to draw blood. So my memories of the British Museum are a bit patchy as I limped my way through for a few hours. Needless to say, nought was done the rest of the night...other than tending wounded feet.

The museum itself? Imposing. It was cold, wet and crowded. It felt quite good to get inside after navigating the iron gates, wobbling up the wet steps and shaking my umbrella in unison with 50 other people. The interior? Daunting. Huge. I just followed my nose, and thus probably missed some excellent exhibits from massive and now-extinct cultures. I was most impressed by the Egyptian, Indian and Chinese collections. The Assyrians always impress - their tendency toward zoomorphism is exciting to me. Lion and hawk-headed deities wielding sickles and daggers...very threatening, and there's a slight fear of the completely unknown as well. Why I feel I understand the ancient Egyptians better is anyone's guess. Everything seemed massive and desperately imposing...huge granite busts and sphinxes (plural also being sphinges, which I may like better), lions, wolves; renditions of serene and/or exceptionally vexed rulers...huge tablets of unknown scrawl from this empire and that. Made one feel quite small and insignificant. Heck, I thought we needed the cosmos for that. I wonder who made these items...who modeled for them (and, naughty me, quite interested in finding out who modeled for that fallen soldier in the Greek collection), what they were like, what their lives were like. It leads me to a slight melancholy most times, and sadness at mortality.

The Indian and Chinese exhibits, however, make me think about life and love and sex, and the joys we have in front of us each day. So things started looking up. Pottery dishes to eat good food out of, statuary teaching us grace and divine peace, vases to extend the life of that flower or twig just a bit longer...and the death gods: even them dancing and rampantly jolly whilst treading on their victims. And my favorite god of all, Ganesha, dancing with trunk slightly lifted; stomach jutting in front of him. There is a statue of Ganesha in LACMA's collection whose belly is dark and of a high polish from all the hands that rubbed it for good luck over the centuries. By the time I'd wound my way to the end of the Chinese collection (and those amazing life-sized ceramic statues), I was knackered. And my feet hurt abysmally. Almost time to go.

I made one more stop on my way out....into the library area. Oh, the books of it all! I was jealous. There. I admit it. The Club Dumas by Arturo Pérez-Reverte is kind of a wet dream fantasy for me; if I collect anything, it is books. So the library was difficult. But beautiful. Many, many objet d'arte mini-collections behind glass - I can't possibly do it any sort of justice; no notes, tired, and good golly, nearly four months have flown by! But at least the photos below can give you a glimmer :)

It was time for me to leave then...as it is time for me to leave now. More soon!

Natural History Museum, 10.03.2008.

2009-02-01T13:36:00.001-08:00

I'd mentioned I might go more indepth on the London trip, so hold onto yer hats. Going to be a long ride.

May as well take it day by day. First day in, after a surprisingly comfy-womfy flight on Air New Zealand - highly recommended!, and checking into the Kensington Marriott, I trotted off to the Natural History Museum down the street. It is almost skipping distance from the Gloucester Road tube station.

I was flummoxed from the get-go, because, as you other Americans are well aware, you have to empty your pockets at the door of any museum. But I couldn't find the desk where I might pay, and saw no lines (despite tons of people). Suffered a surfeit of guilt as I walked in...and laugh now that I should feel guilty about learning for free. A friend tipped me off that there is no admission fee...but they heartily enjoy donations.

The dinos held the greatest allure, and as soon as you walk in you're battered with huge skeletons - picking their largest and most visually impressive 'saurs to draw you in. A diplodocus stretched from snout to tip-of-tail by way of a post-mortem greeting...beautiful. And I always find myself wondering what they really looked like. Glad that archeologists and such have been finding organs and skin imprints to fill in our rather huge knowledge gaps.

The museum was PACKED. I know I've said this repeatedly, but I don't think I've ever been so pressed against my fellow man anywhere. At least fellow humanity I don't know. It was a bit claustrophobic, and unfortunately, the way the paleo area is arranged, it's much like a cattle run to the slaughterhouse. Once you're on the path, there's no going back. I think this is excellent information for those who 1) can't stand crowds, and 2) may not be able to stand for long periods of time. I thought of my overweight friends a lot on this trip.

After a while, I felt like bolting, but eased into a focus on getting photos and lessening my fixation on the people around me. The family ahead of me were horrified by the amount the dinosaur exhibit cost...odd concern, that. And of course you could hear everything anyone was saying, because everyone is up your nose.

Having said that, it is an amazing collection. I was enchanted with the way they had set up the walkway - the dinos are on two levels and you get to see most specimens from two perspectives. Space-saving and interesting - very clever. The top level allows you to be face-to-face with the bulk of the dino skellies, lots of predators up there...the grouping of raptors is posed quite well, making it easy to imagine them coming after you (Jurassic Park may have assisted with that visualization).

The lower level is more the "Have fun with learning!" level...lots of little informative plaques and games/exercises. But you can still look up and see the skeletons above you (as they're placed on clear plexi; again, quite clever thinking).

The shadows are amazing. I wish I wasn't constantly being prodded forward by the crowd. Could have stayed and snapped shots for a very long time. But they had to be on-the-fly. Too bad, but got what I could.

The rest of the museum is much like any natural history museum, with impressive bits and not-so impressive bits. I dislike taxidermy and don't much care that it was the only way for people to learn at one time. Looking at musty and motheaten dead animals does not impress me. A particularly horrifying display of hundreds of dead hummingbirds left a deep impression.

It seemed as though I was always walking in the wrong direction...the walkways are teensy-tiny and once again force you into intimate contact with perfect strangers. I became quite worn out after three hours or so, and decided to call it a day even though I hadn't seen the mineral room yet. And heck, I'll be back.

Beautiful museum, and an excellent first stop when you head to London. Afterward, if you walk west down Cromwell, there's a very tasty little Indian restaurant near the Holiday Inn and Marriott, across the street. Tiny place (and for the life of me I can't remember the name), but quite worth it. One waiter is very sweet and the other is quite rude. Good luck to you on which one you get ;)

"Full screen" mode (the little button on the bottom right of the frame) is advised for the above slideshow...I like to think it's more impressive that way.

London, rainy or not.

2009-01-25T22:32:00.000-08:00

After visiting London twice now in a very short span of time, I can say that I've been allowed to know the city itself a little better...we haven't become chums and I can't say I approve of its behavior all the time, but I keep going back for more.

Very rarely will you find me jamming as much as I can into a day...I like to linger and lurk. I like to people-watch and sit in parks, ride the underground as far as it will go to see who gets on and off, walk gardens, spend the day in museums. Garrulous behavior is a fair-weather friend. But in doing these things, I get to listen, to watch, to absorb....to hear what people are talking about, to see how people are reacting to each other and the world around them. Dashing around like a crazy person trying to fit in the innumerable tourist attractions would drive me bonkers.

So what were people saying? Everyone was very worried about the economy...lots of dark laughter about money, scowls and frowning amongst businessmen wearing the same 3/4 coat (that one coat seems to be quite the phenom in London). Some idle and fun chatter one night amongst friends about being gay and some lowgrade but charming humor about the station named Cockfosters. Racist banter in Kew Gardens between a posh couple wheeling their baby (definitely of the "illegal immigrant rant" sort so popular here). Much talk in languages I couldn't understand which I heartily enjoyed...is it wrong to enjoy incomprehension? At one of the hotels I stayed in the first visit, there were people (mainly men) from all over the world...I fancy the men above me were Russian, not really sure...but they sure did drink one evening, and started singing out the windows into the night and the angry yells from other tenants joined the din (an Italian man stormed the stairs and starting yelling, but at the very end, for some reason, switched to english and yelled "Shut...the fuck...up!!!!"). I hung out on Edgware a goodly portion of my first visit, and didn't understand much of anything I heard there. Edgware has an interesting mix of people, you can spot Lebanese restaurants and hookah lounges, travel agencies for West Africa...one night while sitting in a Starbucks (yes, I did that quite a bit) there was a family drama unfolding next to me as one brother appeared to be talking with a much less responsible/respectable brother who had lost some money...I have no idea what language was being spoken, but an irritating female relative with a nice English accent said "Sorry?" about every five seconds. I felt like clocking her after a while. They were getting riled up and I left. No need to join the scuffle at the local SBs.

What were people doing? Well, the first time I went for two weeks. It was gloriously sunny and warm nearly the entire time. People were blinking like moles and soaking it in, everyone draped about the nearest available sunny spot while on their breaks. In Kew Gardens, the grass was covered with people in long heavy clothes pulled up to expose midriffs or arms, pantlegs pulled up, any spare patch of skin to soak in the light. Couples were walking in Hyde Park, and dogs romped. I personally went to a bench inside Notting Hill Gate and sat in the sun and phoned my mother on my birthday. I sighted a pretty spiderweb on one piece of wrought iron fence. Then, just sat there and basked for a while. So (from what I hear) I was getting a rather lighthearted and pleasant disposition from everyone due to the unexpected spate of good weather. People sat down to chat with me, approached me and asked me about the upcoming election, asked what it was like to live in LA. Thoroughly enjoyable. Not quite so enjoyable were the first trip's pubs. I went to the Shaston Arms off Oxford...and there was a rather large crowd of besuited and puffed up people standing around out front. Once inside at the bar, two of these same types walked up and I watched while one said to the other, "Now that you're promoted, your first order of business is to get us all drinks." So the young man pushed in front of me and did just that. The cider was quite good though.

On another note, I have rarely seen such consistently terrible treatment of waitstaff. No diner was ever pleased, no matter where I went. Tips seem to be unheard of, and when I did tip, while gratified, the server would sometimes say "Oh, you're an American" and smile. Frustrating. The tipping thing I can understand. It's considered decent here to leave 15-20% if the server is good, 10% if the server wasn't so attentive. We've become accustomed to it and include it in our mental tally when we're going out. But not so in London. The impecunious part of me says "Great! More money for me!" but still I tipped. I wonder if the wage scale is different for London waitstaff? But find it unlikely. I also suspect that some of these people aren't working on the up and up (I would work under the table - or is it called in the black? - if I lived there), which means they make even less. In the aforementioned Edgware Starbucks, a very pretty barista dealt with a particularly unpleasant piece of work in line ahead of me. I was stunned and asked if many people treated her that way, and her reply was, "You don't"...and smiled. For what it's worth, I did see many random acts of politeness committed as well...just not in a restaurant, not on the first trip.

To move on, there were many excellent art shows on at the time, including the Rothko exhibit at Tate Modern, the Francis Bacon retro at Tate Britain and the "Warhol: Other Voices, Other Rooms" exhibit (which is apparently also still available at its only US location at Wexner Center for the Arts in Columbus, OH).

I also went on a general museum crawl; the Natural History Museum was filled to the gills with people and the area displaying the dinosaurs was like Disneyland on New Year's Eve. I've never seen a museum so packed, and it's nearly a shame they don't charge anything. The exhibits are there to engage you, and engage they do...although I still find taxidermy incredibly creepy and couldn't find the rocks and minerals no matter how many times I pushed through the same crowd. The British Museum was unfortunately lost on me after the first few hours as my feet were bleeding in my unwise choice of footwear (don't wear high-heeled latex boots if you're planning on getting deeply lost in London in the rain). But I will go back soon. The collection, as always, raises questions about morality and colonialism and all that nifty stuff...but much like going to the zoo and catching my first glimpse of the prowling jaguar in its cage (guilt guilt guilt), part of me is thrilled to see these artifacts, to be so close, to study them...but neural overload and pain set in, and things went downhill from there.

On a friend's recommendation, I went to the Leighton House. Firstly, it was an absolutely charming jaunt just to get there, sunny and bright, with fall leaves swirling through the air, almost contrived, as though Pixar had taken over my backdrop. Fresh clean air and good walk. The house itself was lovely...filled with gorgeous tiles, and while I could appreciate Lord Leighton's paintings, I enjoyed his small sketches from the road the best. They were very impressionistic and fast, daubs and smears of paint trying to quickly inform or remind one of a particular landscape. There were thick lovely rugs on the floor that made me feel guilty (again) for walking on them. Statuary, cozy period furniture...places like this always make me want to sit down with a cup of tea and read.

Anyhoo, I'll go on more about London another time, more indepth on a number of things, the walks I took, more people I encountered, places to go...this has been rather slapdash, but oops! I'm out of time.

Splinters.

2009-01-19T10:01:00.000-08:00

So tired I'm nearly blind with it, but here are a few things I saw on the freeways which caught my eye as I listened to something esoteric I can no longer remember.

1) flames gouting out of the Exxon-Mobil smokestacks in the broad daylight, reminding me of when I first met my friend Rick...we bonded oh-so-gothily and spent the night driving back and forth down these roads filled with flaming smokestacks talking Swans and such.

2) a car drives by me at least 10mph faster...a great chocolate brown dog with his chops flapping in the wind grins, and I worry about his head sticking out the window. But he looks very happy.

3) Compay Segundo's Chan Chan comes on the iPod and I try to relate it to every relationship I've ever had.

I found this translation, oddly enough, on youtube:

I'm going from Alto Cerro to Marcané
Then from Cueto, I'm going to Mayari.
The love I have for you
I cannnot deny
My mouth is watering
I just can't help myself.
When Juanica and Chan Chan
Sifted sand together on the beach
How her bottom shook and
Chan Chan was aroused!
Clean the dry sugar cane leaves
from the path
So I can get to that trunk
I want to sit down.
I'm going from Alto Cerro to Marcané
Then from Cueto, I'm going to Mayari.

[Someone] had mentioned that Chan Chan is embarrassed of Juanita's bottom shaking and of his own arousal as they gather sand together. This is the portion I muse on.

Ah, found the link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chan_Chan_(song)

So, not embarrassment. Shame. Even better.

4) the San Fernando mountains have been consistently visible, and this is rather remarkable to me...driving to Compton each day and seeing the mountains and the buildings of downtown LA looking like a bum's broken teeth...can't say it cheers me, but it is a marvel.

this pile of toothpicks brought you by
me

The fourth...eggs and sausage.

2009-01-11T20:50:00.001-08:00

Well then: am back from what seemed like a vacation but was really just two weekends slapped together...no more traveling for me for about 6 weeks, other than the local kind. And as I drove the freeways first to Compton, then to Long Beach, and then to Hollywood, I realized just how much travel that really is. In good traffic, it takes twenty minutes to get to Compton from Torrance driving about 70mph. Compton to Long Beach is, oh-hhh maybe 20-25 minutes. Long Beach to Hollywood is a whopping 40 minutes or so...then back to Torrance again another 25-30. I listened to nearly four full albums in my car.

Because, of course in LA, the traffic is NEVER good.

Never having quite come to terms with the massive time consumption created by LA traffic, I invariably get very cross. I hear that some people make a 3-hour commute each day, and that's utter madness to me. What could possibly be so important that you spend your entire free day in your car? But it does start to explain the phenomenal car culture in the area. Everyone wants swank cars because, hell, that's where they spend all their damned time! Tonight, there was some of the typical 5mph traffic on the 101, caused by the usual rubbernecking at someone else's misfortune.

The Hollywood trip tonight was specifically Amoeba-bound...looking for original Black Randy vinyl, which I did not find. The woman helping me hadn't heard of him; not a good sign. I also didn't locate Lady Snowblood Pts. I or II, the one eX-Girl album I'm missing nor any Veloso cds that interested me. My shopping list was a complete dud today. My Boris/OM gatefold lp (never opened), a Luis Bunuel Criterion (never opened), a Nick Cave collection of B-sides and some Diamanda Galas cds were turned into a hefty credit of $100. I purchased two more lovely dvds with said credit. The newest Criterion versions of Lang's M and Kurosawa's Red Beard. Took my treasures a few miles around the bend to the ever-lovin' Canter's Deli on Fairfax and tore them open whilst munching on greek olives and pita bread. There are so many good restaurants about, but for some reason the NY-style diner atmosphere keeps me warm at night.

Daphne's favorite day in Los Angeles usually goes this way: take the 405N to the 710N to the 5N to the 101N. Get off on Sunset. Stay in the right lane. Merge onto Sunset. Get in the left lane. Look for ArcLight Cinemas...Amoeba Music is on the next block. ArcLight has special AFI presentations during the week, so best to keep on top of those before leaving the house. Amoeba has special musical guests...good to be aware of those as well! After these two potential pit stops, farther west down Sunset takes you to Meltdown Comics (on the left after the brightly neon-lit strip clubs, "Seventh Veil" and such). They too may have a special guest or two, but great for window-shopping regardless. Even further down Sunset, you come to Fairfax, where I ALWAYS take a left. Drive a mile or so down, and there is the Silent Movie Theatre. They have something great on the burner every damned night, and their present pamphlet pretty much depicts how I picture myself every time I'm hiking in the desert. Oooo, Saturday is "Fucked-Up Kids' Movies" night! Past the Silent Movie Theatre, heading south, we finally get to Canter's. Invariably there is the same very sociable guy panhandling next to the parking lot...dollar dropped. Once inside Canter's, more dollars dropped. And after the hot cuppa joe and some huge sculpture of a diner sandwich, it is time to get the poppyseed rugalah for the drive home. A little banter with the waitress (imported straight from Jersey, I'm positive), and it's time to go.

Sometime I'll regale you with my museum and gallery crawl.

But for now:

A song for the handsome Japanese musician who dropped his guitar accidentally on the corner outside Amoeba, to the perpetually nice transient who confuses me and makes me slightly sad, to the surly overtired waitress at Canter's, the 8-year old girl who told me she liked my hair A LOT, to a very bored-looking man standing at a traffic light, and a milling crowd outside a theater....I'm in love with love and life and a little of the urban tonight.

"Eggs and Sausage (In a Cadillac With Susan Michaelson)" by Tom Waits

The third...in twenty-four hours.

2009-01-04T01:09:00.001-08:00

So, let's get some actual travel reporting in and solidify this sucker!

I've been on Santa Catalina Island since Friday afternoon. If you aren't quite sure where that is (and honestly, they are quite modest about their popularity, self-describing themselves as a "lesser-known island"), here is an illuminating link: Santa Catalina Island, California

Am presently staying at the Glenmore Plaza Hotel. Firstly, let me be clear here: I booked the hotel through hotels.com, which is usually pretty good for cheap rates and didn't disappoint this time. It is the oldest hotel on the island, and also the least expensive. An old Victorian style building, yellow, hard to miss - in fact, I'd forgotten to print out my confirmation and indeed had forgotten the hotel's name with nothing other than a vague recollection of where it was, and I still found it. Leading me to mention that Catalina's town of Avalon is not very large. The rooms in the hotel are quite cozy in a sort of non-Euclidian way.

Avalon itself is hyper-tourism incarnate, at least near the docks. I've heard that it costs $10K a year to have a private boat mooring here. Hm-mmm. Just investigated, and mooring fees cost $20 to $80 per night based on boat length...so watch out, all you size queens! If you had a yacht (and the likelihood is great, of course) and were moored for a year, it would be a little over $29K. Gosh. Lucky you. The town is jam-packed with restaurants and specialty shops, although this time of year they open and close rather whimsically. Tonight I went to a place called The Landing, which was nice enough...salads and steaks, a full bar, nothing exotic. The best part of the room (to me) was the fireplace, which I sat so close to my eyes began to water. Has been a cold day.

Out on boats all day. I'd wanted to rent a bike and explore the island, unwittingly assuming you could ride out and around the coast. However, for those who may have the same ambition, the bikes are relegated to Avalon Proper. So I nixed that idea, and went in search of other fare. Was surprised to discover that whales are already migrating - the gray whales are passing by. And so are orcas, since they like to eat the grey whale calves...a bit of info I'm less than pleased with. The gent in the whale watch booth insisted that the orcas only eat the gray whales' tongues. I have not been able to verify this grisly piece of information, nor am I sure I want to. Signed up for a trip (with a small prayer that no orcas would show up). I've been on a few whale-watching sojourns, and they always go out on large ferry-style boats. The set-up here is a little different. I arrived at the assigned meeting place and was told to head to Gate 5 and "look for the yellow dinghy". And sure enough, it was a tiny yellow dinghy. Thrilling really - I like more personal adventures, so this was a good sign. 5 other people arrived, and off we went. I wore four layers, plus a hat and scarf, which was far too hot for the general weather, but once out on the water, damn! Freezing!!! We went to the south and west around the lower tip of the island past "Lover's Cove", past the quarry...eyebrows raised a little at the sight of a quarry on what seems like a very finite amount of land. "Iron and silver used to be mined here, but now only granite is exported." (we asked)

As for fauna, there were many sea lions (discovery: the Catalina sea lion is smarter than the average bear and is the specific animal used in circus shows and the like); one very fidgety bald eagle (whose eggs are finally hatching on their own after a very long recovery from exposure to DDT); a mass of pelicans on poo-splattered rocks; and finally, the show-stopper(s).

We bounced and jounced our way toward sea a bit to locate sea mammals of any stripe or color...seemed pretty barren until one little white wake appeared in the distance. The captain announced, "We might have a dolphin!"; as it got closer, it looked to be more. But when they arrived, oh my god. Hundreds and hundreds of dolphins!! Who decided they might like to play for a bit. Lots of flipping, jumping and slapping, and riding the boat's wake. Wonderful! The trip was more than worth it before, but this event kind of made the entire New Year feel right. These were Common dolphins. And so many of them! ^^ While enjoying many (perceived as) benificent playful aquatic mammals, we also had the slightly less fun experience of seeing a waterspout form. But a unique trip, that I'll grant! Was great fun and just what I was looking for. Got back to land soaked through (the boat bounced and splashed quite a bit once we headed away from the coast), my glasses spotted with saltwater, and my camera lens (protected by a filter) as well. Didn't realize how numb my extremities were until I tried to write. Entertaining results. But, not being able to give up on a good thing, I dashed off and signed up for a "nighttime underwater tour" of the coast.

The nighttime tour was a bit of a letdown - was hoping for sharks, rays, octopus, something terribly dramatic...the underwater tours at night are to find predators and scavengers, and they tend to hide. The company had gone out and placed 75 pounds of bait on the ocean floor. By the time we started making the rounds, the bait was covered with hundreds of lobsters. These were different from east coast lobsters, no giant claws. And lobsters would be almost all there was to see, other than the occasional garibaldi glaring out flourescently from its domain; also a few bass and sardines. And the kelp forest. Giant strands of bladder kelp, so thick in the water they covered the front of the boat. Amazing. I fancy I saw an eel as well. The best part of the trip for me was when all lights were shut off and we watched the bioluminescence (its light activating because it is scared, supposedly), millions of little particles streaming by. The crew informed us that since the island's plumbing is 75% salt water, we might want to shut off our lights and flush the toilet if we wished to see more of the bioluminescent organisms...! Poor little guys.

And so the night ended. After that, was frozen to the bone...no more adventures. Went to the aforementioned Landing, had a coffee with a shot of amaretto and a salad, then called it a night. There have been more exciting endings to a day, but it will do :)

Addendum: found this YouTube vid and it is nigh-exactly what I saw (was looking for my captain's video, didn't find it). "My" dolphins were more frisky though, leaping in the air and flipping outrageously. Give it a minute. All those little white wakes in the distance? Watch as they catch up to the boat :)

The second...bluegrass tingles.

2009-01-03T20:59:00.000-08:00

May as well begin with the beginning, no?

My younger life was somewhat transitory. It is only recently, as my brother pointed out one night in a rather pompous wine bar (redundant), that I realized when my parents said we were "going camping" it might well mean something else! The fact that I never noticed nor cared is a loving wave to my folks. But it must be admitted that we were fairly gypsy-ish. From this early lifestyle I gained a love for travel, a fear of settling down, a tendency to cut ties and a lack of responsibility. There were flush times and hard times...times when we were so broke other poor people were stealing food for us, and times when all seemed dandy. Again, as a kid, it's hard to relate....I was very intuitive in some ways, noticing every degree of fluctuation in my parents' emotional relationship, and yet not understanding the ramifications of having Spam for Thanksgiving.

We traveled from home to home...I have also gained a very selective memory. Part of the "cutting ties" bit, I think. I couldn't begin to describe most of the houses I lived in. There was one that had a late 60's motif in the bathroom with purple floral wallpaper and bright green shag carpeting....I remember the "haunted house" in Whitesboro, which deserves a blog entry all its own....the various terrible college apartments, but then we're past the beginning and into the middle.

I lived with my grandparents quite often, and now assume this was during times of separation between my parents, or when we simply could not afford to live elsewhere. I still have bad dreams about my grandparents' home, which is a shame. I loved that house, and remember it down to nearly every detail. Another segment that deserves its own telling.

But mainly what it comes down to is an early life that formed the later; a need to keep on the move, to feel slightly displaced, and to easily meet others and just as easily lose them again. It has been a marvel to me that many old friends have recently reinstated contact of a sort.

So now you have the building blocks, the Lincoln Log framework - and we can move forward.

Before I forget, here are two songs that I must have heard 5000 times as a kid. One terrified me as I lay at night under the covers while my parents were in the living room smoking pot with friends....the other remains a fond memory of many bluegrass concerts with the smell of cut grass and beer on the air, blankets on the ground and gnats hanging around our heads. They've stuck with me all these years and still send shivers up my spine. Perhaps no one else's...but mine.

"Country and Eastern Music" by Jerry Goodman and Jan Hammer

"Please Don't Bury Me" by John Prine

The first.

2009-01-03T20:28:00.000-08:00

So. It is the year 2009. I already have a sickly blog out there, blindly groping its way around the internet, occasionally entering my friends' homes and begging for attention...and for some reason I've decided to begin another, perhaps hoping it will be a heartier waif than the last.

I adore music, but there are so many glorious music-filled blogs out there already...I can (and will) certainly point them out to you. This batch of typed folderol may include music, but what it really will be (supposedly) is a travelogue. Not of the usual kind, maybe, but hopefully informative and entertaining...and if my navel-gazing once in a while assists you in some way, do let me know! Am always keen to help.

Meandering has been a part of my life for, well...forever, really. If by "forever" we understand it to mean "since my birth". But recently it has hit a fever pitch, and it occurs to me that someone else doesn't need to make the same mistakes if I've made them already! These mistakes could relate to any facet of life. This may be about traveling, but will incorporate all things (i.e., I get to write about whatever the hell I like and you will have to cope). And this exercise won't be entirely about mistakes; it will be about choices and experience, life-love-laughter-tears, all that jazz. So in two paragraphs we've gone from music to travel to mistakes to life. Some of my favorite things! Wondering if Julie Andrews would sing that song?

Finally, the blog's title comes from my favorite decadent snack I usually enjoy when writing romantic notes about where I've been and what I've been doing...so expect a plum wine flavored kiss to be blown on the air to you shortly.